


What Is And What Should Never Be

by sodium_amytal



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Alternate Universe, Divorce, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-18 04:18:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 49,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2335022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodium_amytal/pseuds/sodium_amytal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>This is a stupid idea. Walt would be furious if he knew Jesse was even considering a divorce, let alone that he actually consulted an attorney. Too dangerous.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>	But Jesse’s already gone this far. Why not see where this goes?</i>
</p>
<p>S1 AU. Jesse and Walt are a married couple going on five years of domestic drudgery. When Jesse discovers Walt's been hiding a cancer diagnosis, he pays a visit to divorce attorney Saul Goodman. But Walt isn't letting Jesse go without a fight, and his combative tactics all but push Jesse toward Saul, who's everything Walt isn't. As tensions climb and culminate, Jesse's got a secret of his own, one that could put himself and Saul in danger if Walt ever finds out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_It is those we live with and love and should know who elude us._

_~ Norman Maclean_

* * *

 

"What the hell is this?" Walt asks, eyeing the plate Jesse's set in front of him with an uncalled-for amount of suspicion.

Jesse rolls his eyes. "Scrambled eggs."

Walt pokes at the pile of food with a dubious expression. "Where are the eggs?"

"They're in there, just mixed in with the other stuff: cheese, bell peppers, onions, tortillas, tomatoes, jalapeños—"

"Jalapeños?"

"I took the seeds out, you giant pussy." Jesse woke up early to make a special breakfast for Walt's birthday, and what does he get in return? Lip. Endless fucking lip. Unbelievable.

Jesse sighs and moves to take the plate away. "Yo, if you don't want it, fine. I think I have time to make pancakes."

"Wait, Jesse, it's—it's fine," Walt stammers, taking the plate back. "Really. I was just—surprised, is all. I'm sure it's delicious."

"Damn right it is." Jesse's usual protocol for the morning of Walt's birthday is to make him a plate of pancakes, eggs, and bacon—basically a Denny's Grand Slam. But fifty is a pretty special milestone, so Jesse thought he'd change things up. Most people see new food as a culinary challenge to be met; Walt looks at it like it's something found in a gas station bathroom.

Jesse fixes himself a heaping plate and sits across from Walt at the dining table. Walt shoves a forkful of eggs into his mouth, chews it over. "It's good, Jesse," he murmurs a moment later.

Even after five years, Jesse still feels the thrill of pleasure in his gut when Walt compliments him. He can't help it; he's a people-pleaser at heart.

The usual sleepy silence falls over them as they eat. Jesse focuses on staying awake, because falling asleep at the table is generally regarded as rude. "Do you have class today?" Walt asks.

Honestly, it's like Walt doesn't even listen to Jesse sometimes. "I always have class on Mondays."

"This is your last semester, isn't it?"

Jesse nods around a mouthful of eggs. How does Walt not know this shit? He's the one who insisted on paying for Jesse's education.

Walt takes a sip of coffee, asks the question Jesse's been dreading all morning: "You're coming with me this afternoon, aren't you?"

Jesse wants to say no. Spending time with Walt's ex-family is the actual worst, but he feels like he owes it to the guy on his birthday. For the past five years, they've only ever regarded Jesse with disdain and judgement, save for Walt's son Junior who thinks he's pretty cool. But Walt seems to want Jesse there like some sort of trophy to show off, and, if Jesse's honest, he likes being wanted. And enduring an abysmal few hours with Walt's ex-family earns Jesse sex when they get back home, so it's not all bad.

Jesse smothers a yawn and says, "Yeah, sure."

They finish breakfast in the same silence that suffocates most of their time together. Jesse misses when they used to talk at length about things, but he thinks after five years of marriage the conversational well has run dry.

While Walt gets ready for work, Jesse cleans up the kitchen. There's still some eggs left over, so Jesse saves them for lunch. Even downstairs, he can hear Walt's pretty nasty cough racking his lungs. Jesse asked about it the other day, but Walt said it was nothing to worry about, just the result of school starting and germs spreading. Jesse makes a mental note about forcing Walt to get that shit checked out if it's not gone by next week.

Walt disappears from the house with nary a kiss, just says, "I'll see you tonight," before he's out the door. Par for the course, really. Jesse waits until Walt's in his pea-soup-green Aztek before heading up the stairs. He sets his alarm to wake him in time for his class at noon and takes a quick nap. He needs to be well-rested to deal with the bullshit Walt's ex-family will throw at him tonight.

One class fades into another, and the clock moves way too quickly for Jesse's liking. He'll never understand why when he's in a hurry the clock hands seem to trudge through molasses, but when he's dreading coming home to Walt's sour mood time fucking flies. It has to be sorcery. He half-heartedly wishes he had work today, but knowing Walt he'd just make Jesse call in. Dick.

"I don't gotta dress up this time, do I?" Jesse asks while he's pulling on clothes for the evening.

Walt shakes his head. "A shirt that fits might make a better impression."

"If they don't like me after five years, they ain't gonna," Jesse says with a sigh.

"And proper English would help too."

"Eat me," Jesse grumbles, succumbing to Walt's anal-retentive standards and changing his shirt. "Y'know, Mr. White, if you're so ashamed of me, maybe you shouldn't have married me."

"I'm not ashamed of you, Jesse," Walt says, but it means nothing. Just a conversational placeholder. Jesse rolls his eyes, because he's heard it all before.

Nobody's too thrilled to see Jesse when he shows up on Walt's arm at 308 Negra Arroyo Lane. Skyler gives him a tight smile that doesn't reach her eyes. Marie's slightly more cordial, but she still pretends like she doesn't know who he is. Hank is a douche, slapping Jesse on the shoulder and saying, "You stayin' outta trouble?" like he doesn't know Jesse's been clean for five years.

Walt Junior is the only member of Walt's ex-family who doesn't view Jesse's presence as an imposition. He actually smiles when he sees Jesse and gives him a fistbump. They're not best friends or anything, but Junior probably likes having someone closer to his age he can talk to during family gatherings.

The "party" consists of dinner around the dining table; Walt has a weird "no gifts" policy in place that Jesse doesn't really understand, but, whatever, he's not complaining. He forks an enchilada in half and tries to ignore that he could have made these way better.

"The big 5-0, huh?" Hank cajoles Walt, chuckling as he reaches for his beer. "You gonna buy a motorcycle, cross one more off that mid-life crisis checklist?"

Jesse glares at his enchiladas like he blames them for this. He hates everything about Hank Schrader. The first time Hank ever met Jesse was collaring him as a nineteen-year-old junkie—not the best first impression of your ex-brother-in-law's boyfriend.

"Hank!" Marie scolds, lightly smacking his arm. "Leave him alone." It's heads or tails whether she's talking about Walt or Jesse.

"So you're a freshman now?" Jesse murmurs to Junior while the others are engaged in conversation.

Junior nods and keeps eating.

"You gettin' your permit soon?"

Junior shrugs. "I want to. But—but when I get my provisional I want a cool car, y'know? Like a Mustang."

"Oh yeah? You think your mom'll go for that?"

Junior laughs. "Probably not."

"I can put in a good word for you with your dad," Jesse says. "No promises or nothin' though."

"Thanks."

Jesse stabs his fork into the enchiladas, edges off another piece. "How do you, like, cook the flavor out of somethin'?" he mutters, glancing at Junior for an answer.

Junior hides a smile. "Mom's on this health kick. She—she used this weird, different beef and drained all the grease."

"That's where the flavor is," Jesse whines. "Is this low-fat cheese?"

"Yeah. Tastes like rubber, right?"

"Totally."

"What are you boys mumbling about?" Skyler asks, looking pointedly across the table at Junior. She flicks her gaze to Jesse. "You're not filling his head with garbage, are you?"

Jesse bites down on the urge to ask why no one at this table—save for Junior—sees him as anything but a junkie loser. He knows from experience that it won't help.

As if sensing Jesse's distress, Junior says, "J—just cars. And grease."

Walt smothers a cough or two into his fist. "You should get that checked out," Skyler says with concern. "That doesn't sound good."

Walt gives a dismissive handwave. "I'm fine. I always used to get a bit of a cold when school started up in the fall. It's nothing."

Skyler lifts an eyebrow like she wants to argue that but doesn't, because, hey, Walt is Jesse's husband now—Jesse can deal with it.

Jesse's thankful when the evening comes to a close. "It was nice to see you again, Jesse," Skyler says, seeing him and Walt to the door. Her lips say "always a pleasure," but her eyes say "die in a fire."

Walt takes a shower once they get home. Jesse stays in the bedroom and reads from the dog-eared book on the night stand. It's one of Walt's books, so it's boring, but it passes the time until Walt joins him. Jesse sets the book back on the table and sits up, forcing a smile as Walt climbs into bed. "Want me to make you feel good?" Jesse asks, sliding a hand along the length of Walt's thigh, underneath his boxers.

Walt makes an indecipherable grunting noise and turns to face the wall. "Maybe some other time, Jesse," he mumbles into the pillow, switching off the lamp on the night table.

Jesse frowns in the dark and wonders what he did wrong tonight.

* * *

 

Three weeks pass by in a hazy sort of blur, one day fading into the next. Jesse goes to school, puts in his part-time hours at the tattoo parlor, deals with Walt's refusal to see a doctor about his persistant cough, and feels rejected and unwanted every night he tries to initiate any bedroom activity. He doesn't understand why Walt keeps pushing him away. Sex has never been their problem, though the frequency has faded over the years—which Jesse's read is totally normal for married couples. But the sex slows down when couples have children, and, yeah, that's not really their problem.

Jesse figures something else has to be at play here, which he tastefully points out over dinner one night. "Yo, what's your deal? How come you keep turnin' me down every time I wanna do stuff?"

"I'm just"—Walt searches for the word—"not in the mood."

Jesse's not buying that. "Y'know, if you can't get your nut up or somethin', they got pills for that."

Walt groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Jesse..."

"What? It's totally natural, right?"

"Jesse, that's not—that's not what's going on here. Trust me."

"So you've just been takin' care of yourself, huh?" Jesse asks with offense. "Prick."

Walt sighs and doesn't even dignify that with a response, turning his attention to dinner, because the macaroni salad isn't asking him awkward questions about his boners or lack thereof.

Jesse gets a phone call the next day while Walt's away doing fuck-knows-what. The number's not familiar, but Jesse answers it anyway, because it could be something important. "Yo."

The voice on the other end belongs to Junior. Jesse gave him his cell number sometime last year after they spent most of Walt's birthday watching stupid videos on Jesse's phone—"just in case you need somebody to talk to," Jesse said.

"Jesse?" Junior sounds agonized, like he's been crying.

"Yeah, what's up? You okay?"

"I just—I just need to talk," Junior says, so Jesse lets him. "It's—it's about Dad."

Something reaches in and squeezes Jesse's heart. "Is he okay?"

There's a pause on the other end, then: "He didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Jesse has to sit down, because his heart's racing and he doesn't know what else to do. People always tell you to sit down before they deliver bad news, right?

Junior pauses, like he's unsure whether or not to tell Jesse. He tells him. "Dad's got cancer."

And just like that, Jesse feels his entire world shift under his feet. He doesn't cry, he doesn't break down, just stares straight ahead in a numb trance as everything fades out around him. "What?"

"He didn't tell you," Junior says again, but this time it's not a question.

Jesse finds his voice. "Is he there with you?"

"No."

"When did he tell you?"

"Like...a week ago."

_A week?_  Jesse's mouth drops open. How could Walt tell his son first? Jesse can't think of any conversation that would be more difficult. "He just told you?"

"And my mom. And Aunt Marie and Uncle Hank."

The words hit him like a sledgehammer to the chest. It all makes sense now: the rattling cough, the lethargy... "It's—it's lung cancer, isn't it?" Jesse asks in a feeble voice.

"Y—yeah, how'd you know?"

The same thing his aunt had. Jesse wipes his newly-wet eyes. "Just a hunch."

Junior sighs. "I just—I just wish he wasn't giving up. He—he said he's not gonna do chemo. Try to talk some sense into him, please?"

Jesse swallows the lump in his throat. "He won't listen to me. You're his kid. Out of anybody, you're the most important person in his life." After this, Jesse's not even sure if he comes in a respectable second place.

"I already told him. He said made his decision already."

Jesse rubs a hand over his face. He wants to tell Junior that chemotherapy isn't a fix-all, that sometimes it doesn't work and turns your last few months into a cesspit of misery, because Jesse's seen it all first-hand. But he doesn't want to hurt the kid even more. So Jesse just nods and says, "I can try to talk to him tonight."

He lets Junior talk a little while longer, fills the voids of silence with false reassurances until Junior says he has to go. Jesse hangs up and lets the sobs burst free. A small part of his brain realizes he's not crying over the diagnosis—he's crying over Walt's deception, that it's been a week since Walt told his ex-family, and who knows how long it's been since Walt himself found out. He's crying because he doesn't even think he loves Walt anymore, not like he did at first. And he hates himself for it.

Jesse manages to calm the sobs hitching in his chest. He decides to distract himself by making dinner, because he's such a fucking picture-perfect husband, like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. He cooks and cleans and goes to school for Walt because he loves him, because Jesse is pathetic and throws himself at anyone who shows him a sliver of attention. And Walt doesn't even give a shit; he'll tell literally everyone else that he's got cancer before he tells his husband.

Jesse smiles and grits his teeth against the realization that he's pissed away five years of his life, because what else can he do? He's not allowed to be upset and make this all about him. Walt's cancer diagnosis trumps Jesse's stupid, meaningless feelings. Swallow it down, stuff it into some internal suitcase and move on. Like always.

His eyes are still leaking tears by the time Walt comes home. Jesse doesn't even know how to stop the flow, just wipes his eyes with a dishrag and does his best to look happy. "Where were you?"

"Out," Walt says plainly, dragging a chair from the table and sitting down, like he just expects to have a meal placed in front of him. Jesse's got half a mind to throw the food in his face, but he can't bear to see his hard work go to waste.

"Out where?" Jesse says as non-confrontationally as possible, setting the plate down in front of him.

"It doesn't matter," Walt says, then: "Oh, this looks good."

Jesse scowls at him, but Walt's looking at the food, so his scorn goes entirely unappreciated. He holds on to the fleeting hope that Walt might tell him tonight, so Jesse gives him a chance and eats across from him at the table.

At some point during dinner, Walt sees Jesse's red-rimmed eyes and says, "Is something wrong? You look like you've been crying."

Jesse holds his tongue. He's not going to blurt it out now, not when there's still a chance Walt might find the words he needs to say. "I burned myself."

"Are you okay? You should put some ice on it."

Jesse shakes his head. "It was just, like, the tip of my finger. It's fine now. Hurt like a bitch though."

Walt doesn't bring up his diagnosis over dinner, doesn't mention it in the spare hours before bed. Jesse figures out he has to be the one to breach the topic; clearly Walt would be content never mentioning it to Jesse.

Jesse's shaking, already on the verge of tears just thinking about it when Walt joins him in the bedroom. "Were you ever gonna tell me?" Jesse croaks out, sounding hopeless.

"Tell you what?"

"About the cancer." His voice shakes around the words.

Walt gives him an apoplectic, stunned look. "What? How did you—"

"That's not the point," Jesse cuts him off. "How long have you known?"

Walt sighs. "About a month."

Jesse shuts his eyes in pain. Walt carried this secret around for an entire month and never told Jesse. "So how come you told everyone else first? And didn't even bother to tell me my husband has cancer?"

Walt's quiet for a moment, as if formulating an answer. "I didn't know how to tell you."

Jesse scoffs in disbelief. "Yeah, well, you knew how to tell the rest of your people."

"Because they're not as involved in my life as you are. You're my husband," Walt says, like that means anything to him. "I couldn't find the right time, the right combination of words... But I wanted to tell you, Jesse. Do you honestly think I would hide this forever?"

Jesse looks at him with wide, wet eyes. "Yeah, I do. It's not my first time dealing with this, Mr. White." Walt knows all about Jesse's Aunt Ginny; there's no excuse for this. "And, yo, I get you not wantin' to do chemo or whatever, but you could'a at least mentioned it." He breathes out a deep sigh, so fucking tired already. "What stage are you?"

"Stage 3," Walt says after a moment.

Jesse feels the sobs starting to resurface. He swallows them back, drags a hand through his hair. "This is the worst thing you've ever done." And that's saying a lot; their marriage hasn't been a bed of roses.

"I know, and I'm sorry." Walt reaches for him, and Jesse has no will to fight. He lets Walt take him into his arms, buries his face in Walt's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Jesse."

Jesse whimpers and hates himself even more.

* * *

 

The next few days continue on in the same murky, sluggish haze as the last three weeks. Walt acts as if the diagnosis was merely a disturbing nightmare, like his refusal to tell Jesse didn't make him feel unloved and totally worthless at all. Of course not. It's not like Jesse's important or anything. He's just Walt's husband. Just the person Walt vowed to love as long as they both shall live.

What a crock of shit.

* * *

 

Jesse chews his fingernails, his leg jackhammering from the adrenaline surging through his body. If Walt knew he was here, what he was doing... He tamps down the panic building in his chest. Walt will never know about this. Free consultation. No paper trail. He's merely entertaining the idea, dipping his toes into a lake of fire.

Jesse glances around the waiting room. Women flip through magazines or type on their cell phones, their legs crossed and tired, seen-it-all looks on their faces. Men do the same, but with a glimmer of anger beneath the surface. He wonders what drove them here: pain or boredom or maybe a mix of both.

A young woman walks through the front door, her little boy trailing behind her. She signs in with the receptionist while the boy takes a seat in one of the plush chairs beside Jesse. He's tapping buttons on his red Nintendo DS. Jesse smiles and takes a quick peek at the screen. "You like Pokémon, huh?"

The boy nods, still pressing buttons.

"Who's your favorite?"

"Deoxys. He's a space virus that got hit with a laser beam."

That sounds pretty badass. Jesse lifts his eyebrows. "I dunno that one. My favorite was Charizard. Ditto was pretty cool too, 'cause he could be anything."

The boy's mother sits next to her son in an almost protective way, filling out forms on a clipboard. Jesse goes quiet and stares at his hands clasped in his lap. He concentrates on stopping his leg from bouncing up and down. His already-frayed fingernails will have to take the brunt of his anxiety. It's probably best not to look completely crazy here, otherwise the heavy-set dude guarding Saul Goodman's office door might taze him.

Jesse never imagined he'd pay a visit to a divorce attorney with such shitty commercials—no self-respecting lawyer would advertise like that, Jesse had reasoned—but after Walt's latest stunt, well, Saul Goodman's quick-and-easy divorces sound like a pretty sweet deal.

The receptionist calls his name. "Jesse White? He's ready for you."

_Show time_. Jesse wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans and stands up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. Battle Ax steps aside from the door and lets Jesse inside.

Saul Goodman's office is a study in rich golden and red hues, like a king's chamber in a castle. Self-aggrandizing much? Saul's sitting at his desk. He looks a little trimmer in real life than in his commercials. Guess the camera does add ten pounds. He glances up when Jesse shuts the door behind him. "Jesse White, I presume?"

Jesse nods, moving closer like he's unsure if he's allowed to.

"Go on, take a seat. Don't be shy." Jesse does as he's told and drops into one of the plush chairs across from Saul's desk. "So, what can I do for you?"

"I—I want a divorce."

Saul smirks. "Didn't know we were married."

Jesse huffs out a laugh and feels his face go hot.

"C'mon, kid, that—that was a joke. Joking." Saul spreads his hands, sits back in his chair. "I'm gonna go out on a limb and say you've never done this before?" Jesse shakes his head. "Well, you've got a grand total of two options here: no-fault divorce or fault divorce. No-fault divorce means you're living apart, incompatible, or—my personal favorite—irreconcilable differences. Nobody's at fault—thus the name—and everybody goes home relatively happy. Fault divorces get a little uglier, since, well, you're blaming somebody. Cruelty, cheating, desertion... Any of these ring a bell?"

Jesse wants to prod at that "cruelty" one. Hiding your cancer diagnosis from your husband ought to count as cruelty. But Jesse's never ended up in the hospital with bruises or broken bones, doesn't have some documented health impairment due to Walt's psychological mind games. And of course Walt would deny everything, play up his ailing health and shove Jesse's ex-junkie status into the spotlight. There's no good down that road.

"I—I dunno..."

"Alright, then I'll ask you a couple questions. Just answer honestly." Saul leans in. "How long have you guys been married?"

"About five years."

"You get hitched when you were a fetus?" Saul chuckles. Jesse tugs at the sleeves of his hoodie. "That's another joke, Jesse—can I call you Jesse?"

Jesse nods.

"Okay, so five years. That's not bad. A little under the average, but, hey, longer than some of mine, I'll tell ya that much. But I digress. Any kids?"

Jesse shakes his head. Another dream Walter White stomped out like a brushfire.

"Well, that certainly makes this whole process easier. Kids get involved and then you got visitation, custody, child support..." Saul waves a hand. "How long have you two lived in the state?"

"My whole life. I dunno about him, but he's lived here for, like, at least the last eight years."

Saul lifts his eyebrows. "Him? Your husband?"

Jesse nods again, glances away like he's ashamed of it.

"Hey, I've never litigated a same-sex divorce before! First time for everything, right?"

This dude has an irritating sense of humor, but Jesse can't stop the faint smile that tugs at the corner of his lips. It really doesn't help that Saul's attractive in a weird way. Jesse squirms in his seat and rubs a hand over his mouth. It's been way too long since he's felt that spark of attraction. The selfish part of him wants to nurture it, but the rest of him hates himself for it.

Saul's oblivious to Jesse's sexual frustration. "How often do you guys communicate meaningfully?"

"Define 'meaningfully.'"

"Alright, we'll put in a pin in that one, come back later. Does he insult you, ridicule your religion or lack thereof, your political views, your family, your friends, your Warcraft guild?"

Jesse huffs a dry laugh. "All the time, yo."

"Does he do this in front of anyone?"

"Not really, but he doesn't—he doesn't stop his people from doin' it." Saul urges him to continue. "We went to his ex's place about a month ago for his birthday, and his ex-wife, like, does not hide the fact that she fuckin' hates me. His dickbag ex-brother-in-law hates me too. Like it's my fault Mr. White left his wife—"

" _Mr. White_?" Saul tilts his head in a way that gives him about three extra chins. "Doesn't that get confusing, both of you being Mr. White?"

"He was my teacher," Jesse mumbles in an impossibly small voice.

Saul's quiet for a moment, like Jesse's dropped an atom bomb of horrifying information on them. Then: "Okay, moving on. Any alcohol or drug abuse?"

"Him? No."

"He ever put bruises on that pretty face of yours?"

Jesse wets his lips. Saul thinks he's  _pretty_ ; it's been forever since he's heard that. "No... But—he might, y'know? Like, I wouldn't be surprised if he did someday."

"Missed his calling as a UFC fighter, huh?" Saul's smirk wilts when he sees Jesse's emotionless expression. He clears his throat. "So, uh, how would you describe you two's sexual relationship?"

"It's okay, I guess. He's not real gentle or anything, takes him forever to get his nut up most of the time. If I get off it's, like, coincidental to him blowin' his load. But we haven't done anything recently." Jesse trails off, busies himself with the stapler on Saul's desk.

"So what was the straw that broke the camel's back? Every couple's got one."

"He lied to me about havin' cancer." Yeah, that's probably one Saul's never heard before.

Saul's eyes go wide. "Wow, really?"

"I mean, he does have it, but he hid it for, like, a month. Never told me or nothin'. But I found out, 'cause his son told me." Jesse shrugs into silence.

"Is he pursuing treatment?"

"He said he didn't wanna do chemo or anything," Jesse says, his eyes suddenly blurry. He wipes his face with a floppy hoodie sleeve. Saul nudges a box of tissues toward him. Mr. Sympathy. "I don't get why he hid it from me."

"Just to play devil's advocate here, maybe he didn't know how to tell you?"

Jesse shakes his head again. "No. Maybe, like, for a week, but not a whole month. He had no intention of tellin' me."

Saul doesn't argue with that. "So you two still live together?"

Jesse nods.

"Have you considered a separation?"

"I don't think he would go for that."

"Right, okay, I understand. Has his behavior affected your health at all, physical or mental?"

"He drives me crazy, but I don't think that counts."

"That's a pretty safe bet. What do you think his opinion is of you as a spouse? Just, y'know, an educated guess."

"'A pathetic junkie too stupid to understand and follow simple rudimentary instructions,'" Jesse grits out through his teeth, because he remembers every word of Walt's cruelty.

Saul blinks in surprise. "You're a drug user?"

"Not anymore. I've been clean, like, five years. The worst I ever do anymore is pot."

"Five years, huh?"

"Yeah, that was one of his, uh, stipulations."

"Well, congratulations on your sobriety. You should be proud; it's not easy."

"Yeah, well, tell that to Mr. White. He thinks I'm, like, one step away from goin' on some weekend-long meth bender. That's why he barely lets me hang with any of my friends."

"They use?"

"Yeah, but they're cool about it. They don't do it when I'm around." Jesse rubs his arm, feeling fragile and cornered.

"Does your husband know you're pursuing a divorce?"

"N—no." He's really not looking forward to that conversation. There will be shouting and accusations and possibly violence.

"That's fine, at least at this stage. But you're gonna have to tell him eventually. I'll help you through the whole process, but in my experience it's best to tell him before you hand him the divorce papers."

Jesse feels his heart thump against his ribcage. This is a stupid idea. Walt would be furious if he knew Jesse was even considering a divorce, let alone that he actually consulted an attorney. Too dangerous.

But Jesse's already gone this far. Why not see where this goes?

"Maybe—maybe the license isn't even legal. We got married in Sandoval County when they had same-sex marriages for, like, a day. But it's not legal in New Mexico anymore, so what if we're not, like, officially married?"

"I can look into that," Saul says. "Now, let's talk fees. Today's consultation is free—as advertised—but any further services are gonna cost you."

"How much?"

"Well, there's not exactly a flat rate I can quote you. I mean, there are variables: the temperaments of both spouses, actions taken by the opposing attorney, hiring appraisers and valuators, type and complexity of assets involved, commingling of assets"—Saul stops when Jesse's brow creases—"yeah, it's tricky."

"I don't have a lot of money," Jesse admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "Mr. White controls the cheddar. He barely even lets me have a job. I'm lucky I got a rainy day fund." Walt had scoffed at the idea of Jesse working at a tattoo parlor, but Jesse makes decent money there. Enough to squirrel away from Walt, at least. But not enough to keep him afloat on his own, and Walt knows it.

"Well, I can always ask the judge to order your husband to pay the retainer, but it's heads or tails whether he'll actually do it. The judge, I mean. And, hey, if you borrow money from your friends or your parents or your Boy Scout leader, we'll count it as a loan, which gets credited to you after all the final assets and liabilities are calculated. Or you can apply to the court to waive the fees. Point is, you've got options.

"So, what's gonna happen, if you decide to pursue this," Saul continues, "is you'll file a complaint with the court—basically outlining what you're asking for—and then you're gonna deliver that and a court summons to your husband. He'll respond with what's called a counterclaim. The rest really depends on how he reacts. If he's compliant, things'll go pretty smoothly. If not, well, that's why I can't give you a ballpark figure."

Jesse nods, taking this all in. His palms start to sweat again.

"I'm always lookin' for billable hours, but I'll give you a little tip: if you can make a list of everything you own and all your debts, that'll save you some money you'd spend paying me or my staff to collect and organize your records." Saul pulls open a drawer on his desk and hands Jesse a stack of papers. "I've got an inventory sheet for you if you want."

Jesse flips through the papers and feels his head spin. "Is this just for me or am I s'posed to list his too?"

"Ideally, you should list everything you know about, but odds are if he's got the purse strings that tight you won't know about his investments. Just do the best you can." Saul claps his hands together. "So, game plan: go home, talk to him about it, then call me and we'll go from there."

Jesse tucks the paper into his book bag. Walt wouldn't think anything suspicious is hiding amongst his textbooks and class notes. "A'ight, cool." He plucks a business card from the fancy card holder on Saul's desk, stuffs it into his wallet alongside an unused condom. "Thanks for your time."

Saul shakes his hand. "No problem. Good luck, kid."

Jesse thinks he hears Saul say, "You're gonna need it," as he leaves the office.

* * *

 

Jesse tries to quietly let himself inside the house, but he knows that's pretty much impossible. Walt's got papers spread all over the kitchen table. Some of them bear angry red lettering Jesse recognizes from his days as a chemistry student. Walt looks up when Jesse shuts the door. "You're home late," he says.

"Yeah, I, uh, went to the student center for a bit. Gotta study for this test comin' up. You know I suck at those."

"I would've helped you."

Jesse drops his bag onto the couch, shrugs out of his hoodie. "I didn't wanna get distracted. Plus I knew you were gonna be busy today." He moves closer, lays his hands on the back of a nearby chair. "You eat yet?"

Walt glances at the clock. "No, I—I must have lost track of time."

"That's cool. I got it. Don't worry about it."

Jesse doesn't mind being in charge of dinner—Walt usually takes over breakfast due to his early-riser schedule. Jesse wasn't the best cook at first, but five years of practice honed his skills. He started out using his Aunt Ginny's recipe book as a guide, and occasionally he tests out various recipes he finds online. Tonight's course is Jesse's signature lasagna, which Walt jokingly claims is why he married Jesse.

Yeah, Jesse's pulling out all the stops here. He wants Walt primed and ready when Jesse drops the divorce bomb on him tonight. He can't calm the way his hands shake when he sees the ring around his finger. He hates himself each time Walt coughs, because, oh yeah, he's divorcing a guy with cancer. Just thinking about it probably means he's coming back as a toilet brush in his next life.

After dinner, Jesse retreats to the shower to buy himself more time. He knows he's being an idiot about this. There's no way to tell someone you're divorcing them that won't be painful and awkward. And, honestly, if Walt's been paying any attention, it shouldn't come as such a big surprise.

Jesse keeps his book bag hidden beneath the bed that night, but even as he's lying there waiting for Walt he can almost feel the presence of the asset papers there, like a less grotesque version of  _The_   _Tell-Tale Heart_. Yes, it's better Walt hear the news from him rather than discover the papers or Saul's business card tucked neatly into his wallet.

But that doesn't make it any easier.

Walt takes notice of Jesse's nerve-racked demeanor as he's climbing into bed alongside him. "Something wrong?"

"Y—yeah, actually, we need to talk..." Jesse sits up, toys with a loose thread on the blanket. He risks a glance at Walt before his gaze darts away.

"About what?"

Jesse swallows thickly, grips the blanket tight in his fists. "Um, well, I think it might be for the best if we—if we were..."

"If we were what?"

"If we split up," Jesse chokes out. "Like, y'know, a dissolution of our marriage."

Walt gives him a blank stare, but there's fury at the edges. "A divorce?"

"Yeah." Fuck it; Jesse gnaws at his thumbnail as very unhelpful adrenaline gushes through his veins.

"You want a divorce? Is that what you're asking?" Walt growls, sitting up. "Where is this coming from?"

Jesse shuts his eyes in pain. "You lied to me about havin' cancer, yo. That's a pretty big one."

Walt sighs like they've had this conversation a million times. "Jesse, I didn't  _lie_  to you. I just didn't tell you the truth."

"Wow."

"I didn't know how to tell you."

"That's bullshit. If it was me, would you give a shit how I said it? I thought we were s'posed to be honest with each other."

"So I keep a secret one time and you call it quits?"

Jesse shakes his head. "It's so much more than that, Mr. White. This just—doesn't work anymore. I mean, if your son wants to get married when he's nineteen to the first person—and I literally mean the first—to pay him any attention, what would you say? 'Cause I don't think you'd be like, 'yeah, totally, shack up with the nerdiest old dude you know if he pays for everything.'"

Walt keeps scowling at him. Jesse braces himself for the coming storm. "Everything I have done for you, and you just want to leave? You'd be in some god-forsaken crack house if it wasn't for me."

Jesse recoils, the words hitting him like the sting of a slap.

"I pay for your schooling and all your other expenses. Your job"—Walt says it with disdain—"grants you enough to buy a video game per week, if that. So where does that leave you if you go out on your own?"

"The only reason I don't have a 'real' job is 'cause you won't let me get one!" Jesse argues back. "I could make it on my own."

Walt scoffs. "You'd spend all your money on drugs and be dead in a week."

Jesse's mouth drops open, but, honestly, he's not surprised Walt went there. It still hurts though. "Screw you. You say shit like that and wonder why I want a divorce?"

"How would you pay for it, Jesse?"

Jesse grits his teeth. "Who cares? It's not your problem."

"It is if I end up paying for it."

Of fucking course it all comes back to money. "You won't, alright? Shit, my parents'll front me the cash. They never trusted your old ass in the first place. 'Swhy the house is still in their name."

Walt smirks like he's won some sort of battle. "Your parents, huh? Typical: relying on someone else for money."

"If I borrow money, it gets counted as a credit to means your ass has to cough up that money after all the shit gets calculated. Bitch."

Walt gives him a curious look. "You've consulted an attorney?" he gapes, as if he thought Jesse was just blowing smoke about the divorce.

"I told you, I want this."

Walt doesn't say anything, just stares at him in a way that makes Jesse want to crawl away into a hole and lick his wounds. Normal people cry, beg, plead, bargain with God when they find out they're being divorced; they don't throw accusations at the other person and say "you'll never make it on your own." But normal people don't marry their students straight out of high school in a deal bordering on prostitution. So there's that.

"Maybe you'll think more clearly in the morning," Walt says as he lies down, turning his back to Jesse.

Jesse huffs out an angry sigh and does the same.

 


	2. Chapter 2

_September 2003_

" _Will you uncross your arms? Do something to at least look like you want to be here."_

_"Yeah, well, I don't." Jesse's sitting across from Walt in a restaurant, staring at his plate like he blames it for everything wrong in his life. Just an hour ago Walt bailed him out of jail after Jesse got pinched for possession alongside his partner-in-crime. He's not sure if this is an improvement._

_"You'd rather be in a jail cell?" Walt asks, and, oh no, here comes the snippy storm. "Is that what you're saying? Because I can drive you right back, Jesse. Just say the word."_

_Jesse heaves a deep sigh and rubs a hand over his face. His body craves a hit of crystal like a man in the desert craves water. But Walt's asshole brother-in-law took his stash when he was arrested. Dick._

_"Why are you doing this?" Jesse asks. "Like all of a sudden you give a shit about me and come to bail me out? And then what? I'm s'posed to promise, cross my heart, to straighten up and fly right or toe the line or some other crap I'm not gonna say? Is that what this is?"_

_Walt's mouth pinches into an even deeper frown. "No, I suppose you wouldn't, not without something to gain."_

_"What the hell are you talking about?" Jesse drags his glass of Coke in for a sip. His mouth is too dry for words._

_Walt stares at him in an intense, kind of scary way. "You're right. I want you to clean yourself up and become a respectable member of society. But I know you don't see that as its own reward. So I'm here to make you a deal."_

_"A deal?" Jesse's mouth twists into something amused. "Seriously? You expect me to trust you? To think you care about the 'dumb junkie shithead you used to bitch about'?"_

_Walt blanches at the words, probably recognizing them. "What?"_

_"I heard your jerkass brother-in-law on the phone with you. That's what he said. A direct quote."_

_"Those... aren't exactly the words I would use."_

_Jesse rolls his eyes._

_Walt puts on his best "caring teacher" face. It's not working at all. Walt's face was clearly not designed to look reassuring. "I did express frustration with you, but only because I felt you have so much squandered potential. I see so many young adults each year, and by the end of the semester I can usually tell whether they'll amount to much. You, well, I don't know if you didn't care about your schoolwork or if there were problems at home, but, Jesse, you can be so much more than this." Walt gestures to Jesse: the too-big, loud-patterned hoodie, the sagging jeans, the striped beanie pulled over his ears._

_Jesse's heard this spiel time and time again from teachers and counselors, but for some reason it strikes him a little differently when he hears it from Walt. Maybe because Walt always gave him a hard time in class, never let a failing grade go unnoticed and uncommented on. Or maybe it's because Walt bailed him out of jail long after they parted ways in junior year chemistry. That seems...kind of huge._

_Jesse slowly unfolds his arms and takes another sip of Coke. When the straw slips from his mouth, he says, "Alright, what's your deal?"_

_Walt leans in, folds his hands on the table. "You go to rehab and get clean. There's a community college not too far from here. Pick something—anything—and earn a degree. I will pay your tuition. I will pay your living expenses."_

_Jesse lifts an eyebrow. This sounds too good to be true, which means there's some horrible catch coming up. He'll be lucky if his dignity stays intact; he'll probably have to submit to being Walt's sex slave or—_

_"In return, you will be my boyfriend."_

_Holy shit, he was_ right _. Jesse opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. "Are you—" He chances a stealthy look around, waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out and tell him he just got Punk'd. "Are you serious?" He laughs, because there is no way this is happening. "Oh my God. You wanna be my sugar daddy?" This is going to be funny_ forever _._

_Walt scowls like he's offended by the term. "I wouldn't use that particular phrase, but in a manner of speaking, yes, I suppose that's what I'm offering." He examines Jesse's still-gaping mouth, probably thinking about putting his dick in it. Perv._

_"Wow." Jesse's still laughing. "You're totally serious, huh? This isn't some, like, huge joke?" He shakes his head, amazed by the sheer balls it must take to make that offer with a straight face. "Your wife know you're doin' this?"_

_Walt looks kind of put out. "Skyler and I have been separated for a while."_

_Jesse laughs even harder, because he gets it now. "So that's why? Dude, you know you can just, like, buy sex, right? Go to The Crystal Palace and find a hooker. That's what they do, yo. It's their_ profession _."_

_"I don't want a prostitute," Walt says, disgusted. "I want you."_

_Jesse isn't even sure what to do with that. No one's ever said that to him before. His parents don't want him—not when they've got Jake to focus all their attention on—his friends could take him or leave him, Aunt Ginny cared for him and needed him, but she's gone. Christ, is Walter White really the only person in Jesse's life who wants him?_

_What an awful, depressing thought._

_"You sure know how to sweet-talk a guy," Jesse deadpans._

_"It's been a while."_

_"Since you tried to pick up a dude?"_

_Walt almost smiles._

_"So, what, you figured out you were gay, and that's why you and your wife split?" Jesse isn't sure if he should feel honored that Walt came to him to act on his newly-discovered sexuality. Was he first on Walt's list, or were there others before him? Oh shit, is Jesse_ last _? Maybe he's obsessing over this a little too much, but he's curious._

_"It's—it's very complicated, Jesse, but I assure you, I'm not gay._

_"Offering to pay for a dude to go to college just so you can fuck him sounds pretty gay to me." Because it so is._

_Walt says nothing for a moment, but there's a tension to his face, like maybe Jesse's crossed a line somewhere. "It's not just about sex. It's about companionship, doing things together, enjoying each other's company."_

_"How did you manage to make it sound even gayer?" Jesse asks, bewildered._

_Walt goes silent, because it's clear he's not going to win this argument. He tries another avenue instead. "You lost your partner today. What's-his-name?"_

_"Emilio," Jesse mumbles._

_"Emilio is going to prison," Walt says. "The DEA took your money, your lab. You've got nothing. Square one."_

_As if Jesse needed a reminder. He couldn't even pay for college if he wanted to. Walt's got him over a barrel and he knows it. Which, yeah, that's a pretty appropriate turn of phrase considering their, uh, negotiation._

_Jesse takes another sip of Coke. He's not even thinking about diving into that burger yet. "How long? I mean, you can't seriously expect this to go on forever. Is this just for, like, as long as I'm in school, or what?"_

_Walt nods. "That sounds reasonable."_

_Jesse cannot believe he's considering this. "So I'm getting fucked by you and the justice system. Awesome."_

_"I could persuade Hank to arrange things so you only have to attend court-ordered rehab—which is part of our deal anyway. It's like getting off scot-free."_

_Jesse groans. "God, tell me that's not a pun." Why is this getting easier to agree to?_

_Aside from the whole sex part, having someone else around for companionship might not be so horrible—even if it's Walt. Jesse doesn't know how he's supposed to live in that too-big house full of memories and misery, but he doesn't have anyplace else to go. Walt could fill the voids in his life. It has to be better than being alone._

_Jesse drags a hand over his face. "Alright, I'll do it on two conditions: one, don't push me on the sex stuff. If I'm not ready, I'm not ready. Two:"—he hesitates, wets his mouth—"you move in with me."_

_Walt's eyes go wide._

_"I got a huge place, you can have your own room and shit. I mean, it'll probably be good to have somebody around if I'm gonna do rehab, y'know?"_

_Walt seems pleased that Jesse's given this some thought. "That sounds fair." He gives Jesse a curious, almost caring look. "Do you want some time to think it over?"_

_Jesse shakes his head. "What's the point? You're right. I got nothin'."_

_So they have a deal. They don't shake on it or sign anything, just kind of give each other a look that says they have an understanding._

_Walt is now officially Jesse's sugar daddy._

* * *

 

Walt fixes breakfast in the morning, and it's almost as if the whole divorce talk never happened. He's not throwing angry glares at Jesse or making passive-aggressive comments about Jesse being ungrateful or selfish. But Jesse still makes damn certain there's no arsenic in the eggs before he takes a bite. Jesse doesn't actually think Walt would try to poison him, but he  _is_  a chemistry teacher with access to volatile chemicals. Better safe than sorry.

"Do you have class today?" Walt asks.

"Not 'til later. I got homework to do though," he says around a mouthful of bacon.

Walt frowns slightly, his eyes full of suspicion and disapproval, but he can't exactly take the day off to ensure Jesse keeps his word. "Alright, well, if you need help just let me know, okay?"

Jesse nods and keeps chewing.

Once Walt's gone, Jesse throws a load of laundry into the wash and digs his book bag out from underneath the bed. He finds the asset packet tucked between the pages of one of his textbooks. Jesse spends most of the afternoon collecting bank statements, his car title, tax returns, and noting the value of the random, useless crap he owns. He doesn't know where to start looking for Walt's financial records, just his own paltry collection.

Around two o'clock his cell phone trills. Jesse doesn't recognize the number, but he answers anyway. "Yo."

"Jesse White? It's Saul Goodman. Can you talk?"

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Well, I made some calls, and it turns out that, yes, your marriage is indeed recognized by the state of New Mexico. So, congratulations."

Jesse sighs. "Of course."

"Hey, you wanted all the perks of marriage? Well, this is part of the package too."

Jesse groans, mutters, "I didn't—" before cutting that line of thought entirely. "Whatever."

"So how'd he take the news? You did tell him, right?"

"Yeah. He gave me all this bullshit about how I wouldn't last a day without him. How he didn't wanna have to pay for it. But this morning he pretended like it didn't even happen."

Saul's quiet for a moment. "Alright, well, you wanna talk about it? I'm not in the office now—I'm on my way to lunch, actually—but if you wanna meet up we can discuss our next step."

Jesse wets his lips. "Yeah, that'd be—that'd be cool."

Saul gives him the address before hanging up. Jesse figures he ought to get dressed if he's going outside.

* * *

 

Saul spots Jesse heading toward his table and can't help the smile that spreads on his face. The kid's got a serious love affair with the oversized hoodie and jeans combo, like he raided his bigger brother's closet. There's a flicker of a smile on Jesse's mouth as he sits across from Saul, but it fades almost as quickly as it appeared.

Saul barely even knows the kid, but he has the urge to wrap Jesse in a blanket and feed him soup.

"Hey, you made it!" Saul slides him a menu. "You hungry? This place makes a chicken alfredo to die for."

"Better than mine?" Jesse scoffs. "I doubt it."

"You cook?"

Jesse looks at Saul as if he's revealed too much. "Yeah, y'know, for the husband," he says, flipping through the menu.

But Saul knows Jesse wouldn't have mentioned it if he didn't take some semblance of pride in his ability. So Saul tugs at that conversational thread. "You go to school for it, or are you strictly a hobbyist?"

"It's just a hobby. I've thought about doing it, like, for real, but..." Jesse shrugs into silence and sets the menu on the table.

Saul lifts an eyebrow. "You're not hungry?"

"I can't really drop ten bucks on food when I gotta pay for a divorce, y'know?" His mouth does a half-smile thing that simultaneously breaks and charms Saul's heart.

"Hey, c'mon, kid, order somethin' if you're hungry. I'll buy. I can write the whole check off as a business expense anyway."

"You sure?" Saul's never really noticed how blue Jesse's eyes are. God, he can't be any older than twenty-five. If Jesse's been married for five years, ol' Walt must've got his hooks in him when he was barely out of high school. Maybe earlier than that.

Kid never had a chance.

"Absolutely. Go ahead."

Jesse cracks the menu open again and orders a bacon cheeseburger with extra cheese and grilled onions. "I haven't had a decent burger in, like, ages," Jesse says, toying with the straw wrapper. "I don't like the way they taste on the stovetop. You gotta have a grill to get that good smoky flavor, y'know?"

"I've never tried to make my own hamburgers. That way lies madness and grease fires." Jesse snorts a laugh. "I rely on the wonderful fry cooks at nearby drive-thrus."

"I feel bad for your arteries."

"So does my doctor. But, hey, minute rice is healthy, right?"

"You're hopeless," Jesse says around a sound of amusement. Then his eyes go wide like he's suddenly remembered something. "Oh yeah, before I forget." He reaches into the pocket of his hoodie and takes out a rolled-up stack of papers. "Here's that asset thing you wanted."

Saul flips through the papers before stashing them safely in his briefcase. "Fantastic! That was quick."

"Yeah, well, I don't have much to account for," Jesse mumbles. He stares at the beads of condensation on his soda glass. "He's never gonna go for this."

"Good news is: he doesn't have to. If you serve him the papers and he doesn't respond, well, tough shit, the case goes on without him."

Jesse's brow creases. "For real?"

"For real. He's gotta play the game or he automatically loses." Saul leans back, watches the way Jesse opens his mouth around the straw. "So, what're you lookin' for in this divorce? Alimony? Division of property? Relief of attorney's fees?"

Jesse nods. "Yeah, all of that. I mean, we don't have kids or anything, so it's pretty cut and dry, right?"

"In a way, yes. I'll take a look at your asset sheet tonight, but from my understanding you guys don't have joint accounts or anything like that?"

Jesse shakes his head.

"So after we file the papers, how do you want your husband to find out? You wanna give them to him yourself, or you can have a sheriff or a, uh, private process server deliver the papers?"

Jesse's leg starts bouncing under the table. Saul pretends not to notice. Jesse brings his fingers to his mouth, chews on his nails; Saul wants to bat his hand away. "I don't—I don't really wanna do it myself." He winces as if this is some sort of character flaw. "And he's got an ex-brother-in-law in the DEA, so I don't know if a sheriff would work. What's the last thing you said?"

"A private process server? Basically someone I hire to deliver the papers. He won't be easy to spot 'cause he doesn't wear a uniform like a sheriff would."

"How, uh, how much does that cost?"

Saul waves a hand dismissively. "For you, I'll waive the fee. I know the guy. He owes me a favor."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, it's no problem." Saul wonders how much kindness Jesse's seen in his lifetime. Probably not a lot.

Their food arrives, and Jesse dives into his burger with wild abandon. "Oh God, it's so good," he moans around the food in his mouth.

"I feel bad for  _your_  arteries."

"Shut up, it's delicious." He licks a glob of mustard from the corner of his lips before taking another enormous bite. Saul notices the ring on Jesse's finger. He wants to ask how the hell this kid ended up with such a douchebag of a husband, but just as he opens his mouth his cell phone rings, and, wow, that's embarrassing. He digs his phone out of his pocket and switches it on silent before Jesse can criticize his taste in ringtones.

But Jesse absolutely does, because he's a horrible, adorable asshole. "Was that 'Stairway to Heaven'?" he asks around a mouthful of bacon burger, a quirk of a smile at the edges of his lips.

Saul's going to vehemently deny that one. "No," he scoffs, pocketing his phone.

"It totally was." Jesse grins. "Dude, don't be embarrassed. That's awesome. Look." He reaches into his pocket and takes out his own cell phone, turns it over to show off the back. The case is designed to look like an old-school Nintendo controller. "I'm a nerd too."

"I never said I was a nerd."

Jesse gives him flat eyes. "You got an 8-bit 'Stairway to Heaven' ringtone. You're a nerd."

Fair enough. "Okay, maybe just a little."

"You know bein' a nerd is cool now, right?" Jesse says, twirling a fry between his fingers. "Like, every other movie that comes out is a comic book movie. Nerds rule, yo."

"I think you mean 'geeks.' 'Nerd' is more for the technical or scientific side, like IT guys and whatnot."

"Consider this: I don't care," Jesse says, smiling in a sassy, spiteful sort of way that Saul can't get enough of. "So you like Led Zeppelin, huh?"

"Like, love, feel a deep spiritual connection with..." Saul shrugs. "You could say that."

Jesse does this adorable thing with his face where he laughs and crinkles his nose. "'Deep spiritual connection'?" He rolls his eyes, shaking his head like Saul is indeed hopeless. But he does it all with a smile, and Saul's not even embarrassed. "At least you like a cool band. Mr. White's into the lamest music. Like, you know those late-night infomercials for those '50s or '60s box sets that never have anything people've actually heard of? Yeah, he's into all that shit. It's ridiculous."

"Tell me he at least appreciates The Stones."

"Mr. White's idea of rock music leaves a lot to be desired."

"Dear God. How did you even last five years?"

Jesse laughs at that. "Beats the hell outta me, dude."

Saul fixes him with a curious look. "Do you prefer Jesse White or Jesse Pinkman?"

"I'm changin' my name back immediately, yo."

"Good. I like 'Pinkman' better."

"'Cause we're like name twins, right? Goodman, Pinkman?"

Saul chuckles. "I never thought of that. But that's definitely a plus."

Jesse's smile is a thing of blissful dreams.

* * *

 

The next afternoon, Walt stares at the papers in his hands as if the words might rearrange into something less destructive. Jesse actually went through with it. Walt can't fathom the idea that Jesse could possibly want more than what he has here, want it so much so that he'd destroy Walt's life in the process.

The doctor gave Walt months to live; how much of an inconvenience to Jesse would it be for him to stay until Walt is no more? To leave now is just cruel, twisting the knife in Walt's already broken heart.

Walt looks up from the kitchen table. He hears the sound of a key turning the lock on the front door. Jesse comes through the door, sees Walt, and freezes in his tracks.

"Yo," Jesse shakes out, trying cordial. But they are so fucking past that point now.

Walt reaches for a stack of papers on the table, grabs them in his hand and holds them up so Jesse can see. "What is this?" he growls.

Jesse moves closer to look at the papers, but he already knows what they are. Walt's been served. "I—I told you, I wanted this—"

"What about what  _I_  want, Jesse? Did you ever stop to think about  _my_  feelings before you ran off to a lawyer?"

Jesse's mouth opens, poised to spew objections, but he closes it. Wise.

Walt rises from his chair and advances on Jesse. Jesse shrinks away, cowers as Walt looms over him. "Why are you doing this? Why are you thinking this way? Is it—is it to punish me? And you have some—some  _stranger_  deliver these papers instead of coming to me?"

Jesse shrinks under Walt's fury. He squeezes his eyes shut, and tears roll down his cheeks.

"Jesse, we are happily married. Why would you even consider—"

"No, we're not!" Jesse bites back. "I can't even remember the last time I was happy! And if it was the other way around, if you wanted to go back to your wife or whatever, I wouldn't be pissed at you!"

Walt does an angry sort of gasp. "How can you not be happy? I give you everything you ask! You were nothing but a screw-up junkie imbecile until I gave you a second chance! Now you want to turn your back on all that and walk away, and for what? You ungrateful little shit!"

The tears flow freely now. "I was a kid!" Jesse shouts through his jumpy lungs. "What was I supposed to do? You're right, I didn't have anything. So when somebody offers me everything you did, of fuckin' course I'm gonna say yes! The odds were always on your side, Mr. White, and you took advantage of that, you selfish dick!" Jesse backs away, like he senses he's crossed a line somewhere, and turns to leave.

Walt grabs Jesse's arm. Jesse jerks free of his grip. There's a look of panic on his face, as if Walt is a wild animal advancing on him. Walt's features soften at Jesse's display of fear, and the line of his body calms into something less tense. "Jesse, please, let's—let's just sit down and talk this through, okay? We don't have to do this."

Jesse's still backing away, shaking his head through the tears. "No. I don't wanna be married to you anymore, Mr. White." He bumps into the front door and startles at the sudden touch of the doorknob.

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know. But I'm not stayin' here." Jesse swings the door open.

"Jesse! Jesse, wait!"

Jesse shuts the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

_October 2003_

_Jesse spends two weeks in rehab. As soon as he steps outside to wait for Walt to pick him up, the brightness and vividness of the outside world hits him like a surprise left hook. Where the hell did all the color come from? He's been stuck in a world of grey for fourteen days, every room desaturated and dull, as if the decorators thought the sight of color might trigger a relapse. Outside, it's like someone cranked up the saturation._

_A hideous, pea-soup-green embarrassment rolls up to the curb where Jesse's waiting, and, oh, goddamn it, that's Walt's car. Jesse sighs. He still can't believe he agreed to this. He really does make questionable decisions while high. "Would you please just get this thing a paint job?" Jesse says, loading his bags into the trunk. "Literally any other color would be better."_

_"Sure, it's not much on style, but it gets from point A to point B," Walt says. Like that excuses blighting the enviroment with this monstrosity._

_"So does the bus," Jesse mumbles, climbing into the passenger seat._

_After a couple minutes of awkward silence, Walt starts talking, hoping to engage Jesse. "I moved most of my things into your home. Well, I suppose it's_ our _home now." He sounds way too happy about that. "I took care of dinner tonight and brought you some brochures for colleges around here."_

_Jesse feels like he should say something. "Thanks."_

_"I hope you don't mind what I did with the basement, but it didn't seem like you were using it."_

_Knowing Jesse's luck, Walt turned it into a sex dungeon. Jesse makes a sound that says nothing at all and leans his head against the cool glass. He must give off a vibe that says he's not in a talking mood, because Walt switches on the radio to dispel the silence. Ol' Walt's not big on quiet, it seems. Probably because he's not used to it. At work, he's either giving a lecture or listening to the din of pencils on paper and students whispering and murmuring. At home, his son and his wife—ex-wife now, Jesse thinks—probably talked to him or made noise. It must be difficult for him to be alone._

_Jesse doesn't say anything about Walt's music taste, though it leaves a lot to be desired._

_When they get home, Jesse's surprised to see that Walt's done some cleaning or, at least, organizing. Everything is put in its proper place, neatly arranged and displayed. There's no clothes tossed haphazardly on the floor or junk littering the walkways. Jesse's sort of impressed. "Wow. You didn't have to, like, fix the place up."_

_"I wanted to make sure you didn't need to worry about anything when you came home."_

_Huh. Jesse finds a smile comes easier this time. "Thanks."_

_Walt smiles back, and Jesse thinks maybe they can peacefully co-exist here. Maybe they can get along and be friends despite the awkwardness of their arrangement._

_"So what'd you do with the basement?"_

_Walt leads him down the stairs and flicks on the light. Inside is a makeshift chemistry lab that looks composed of pieces from J.P. Wynne's chemistry lab. Jesse huffs a small laugh. "Did you take all this crap from the lab at school?"_

_"That'll be our little secret," Walt says. So he's got a rebellious side. Interesting._

_Jesse walks around and surveys the lab. "Never knew you had one of these."_

_"I never had a basement before."_

_Jesse looks at him. "You just now set this up?"_

_"Chemistry is more to me than just a subject to teach," Walt says. "And I thought you might find it useful or at least intriguing. You knew enough to synthesize methamphetamine."_

_Jesse's pretty sure cooking meth in this lab would void their deal. Better not. "You want me to teach you?" he jokes. Like hell he would._

_Walt chuckles. "Remember who the teacher is here, Jesse."_

_"You ain't my teacher anymore."_

_"I'm your boyfriend," Walt says._

_Jesse grimaces. "Thank you for reminding me," he says, devoid of any gratitude._

_Walt's already prepared dinner tonight, so Jesse doesn't start cooking until the next evening. He discovers that Walt's got the refrigerator and pantry stocked pretty well. Aunt Ginny's recipe book sits atop the microwave; Jesse cracks it open and finds a simple recipe for a Mexican casserole they have the ingredients for. He's setting the food on the dining table when Walt walks through the door. "'Sup, Mr. White?"_

_Walt looks a little stunned that Jesse's actually done something productive today. "You made dinner?"_

_"Yeah," Jesse says, like it's nothing._

_"I didn't know you could cook." To his credit, Walt's not trying to sound rude, but it still has an edge of surprise to it._

_"When my aunt got sick, I sorta took over the kitchen duties since she, y'know, couldn't." Jesse's told Walt all about Aunt Ginny, because Walt's first comment upon setting foot into Jesse's house was, "Do you live with your grandmother?" So, yeah, Jesse had a bit of explaining to do._

_Walt approaches the table. "It smells good. Better than what I made last night."_

_Jesse chuckles. "I guess your ex took care of all the cooking, huh?"_

_Walt sort of shrugs and pulls out a chair. "You could say that."_

_Jesse wonders if Walt's past relationship is a sore spot, a wound still raw. He doesn't poke at it again._

_"This is fantastic," Walt raves over dinner. "You must have spent all day on this."_

_"Not really. Maybe, like, an hour."_

_"Did your aunt teach you to cook?"_

_Jesse shakes his head. "She had this big recipe book she made, kinda like a scrapbook, of recipes she clipped out of magazines and got from family members. When she was healthy, she always had the holidays at her place and made a huge dinner for everybody. So I just used the recipe book and asked her questions every now and then. I kinda taught myself, I guess."_

_"That's a good skill to have," Walt says. "Have you thought about pursuing that?"_

_He wouldn't be Walt if he wasn't tying everything back to education and higher learning. But Jesse can't really see himself as a chef. "Not really. I could probably do it, I just... don't want to, I guess." He shrugs. "I dunno. Maybe." The most noncommittal answer ever uttered by a human._

_"You should think about it. You're very talented."_

_Jesse feels his face heat up under the praise._

_"What have you looked into? In terms of schooling, I mean."_

_"I dunno," Jesse says again. "I mean, I'll probably do, like, two years at the community college while I figure it out. And if I don't, well, that's better than nothing, right?"_

_Walt nods and doesn't push him; Jesse can't start school until January, and he only just got out of rehab. At least Walt understands the concept of giving him room to breathe._

_Over the next week or so, Jesse realizes pretty quickly he'll need a way to pass the time while Walt's at work, and basic household chores aren't as time-consuming as he thought. He starts snooping through the guest room where Walt's made his home, picking through the books on his shelves. Most of them are boring chemistry manuals written in a language Jesse doesn't understand, because that sure as hell isn't English. Every so often he'll find one that holds his interest, and when he hears Walt come through the front door he shelves the book and smooths the spot on the bed where he'd been lying._

_"How have you been keeping yourself busy?" Walt asks one night over dinner. It feels like one of those questions with only one right answer, and Jesse's got no idea what Walt's looking for. So he goes with the truth, because it sounds like something Walt might find agreeable._

_"Reading."_

_Walt does that curious thing with his eyebrows. "Really?" he asks, like he didn't think Jesse even understood the concept of books. "Reading what?"_

_Here's the part that gets a little tricky; he's not sure how Walt might respond to hearing Jesse went through Walt's private space. But he thinks it's worth getting out there, to learn what their boundaries are. After all, if they're supposed to be boyfriends—wouldn't they have to set foot in each other's rooms once in a while?_

_So Jesse says, "Um, some of your books."_

_Walt freezes, looking more shocked than angry. "Mine? What could you have been reading from there?"_

_"Your chemistry books. The ones I can understand, I mean." Yep, total shock. Walt's staring at him like Jesse just manifested there at the table. "I thought since you got a lab in the basement—how fuckin' nerdy is that, by the way?—maybe I could make somethin', y'know. Experiment."_

_Jesse thinks he might have just_ broken _Walt. "Well, I'm glad you're learning something," Walt says in disbelief. "Would you—would you want me to help you?"_

_"I wanna see if I can do it myself first," Jesse says. Walt looks dubious. "I won't blow the place up, I swear." Walt's expression doesn't improve. "Or set anything on fire." Walt must still vividly remember the Bunsen burner incident. "Mr. White, why would I blow up my own house?"_

_"I'm sure you wouldn't do it on purpose," Walt says, like that's supposed to be comforting._

_Jesse sighs. "You still don't trust me." It's not a question, because he doesn't need an answer. He knows Walt's generally skeptical and distrustful of him. It's like some sort of medical condition. Chronic douchebagitis._

_Walt frowns like he wants to argue with that but doesn't want to lie. "Jesse..."_

_"No, dude, it's cool. I get it, y'know? But it's my house and you're gone eight hours a day." Jesse spreads his hands. "Do the math."_

_Walt nods silently, accepting that Jesse's going to do whatever he wants. He'll just have to try a new, strange concept called trusting Jesse._

_It takes Jesse a couple days to put his project together. He hides it under a small tarp in the lab and trusts that Walt won't peek. Jesse thinks Walt ought to appreciate the element of surprise, being a proponent of the periodic table._

_He finishes up one evening after dinner and doesn't think twice about rushing upstairs to tell Walt. "Yo, Mr. White," he calls as he's walking through the hallway._

_Walt's voice comes from his bedroom. "In here."_

_Jesse leans in the doorway, trying casual. Walt's sitting in an armchair by the window, reading a book. "'Sup?" Señor Smooth._

_"Nothing much. Just... passing time." Walt puts the book back on the shelf and stands up. "What do you need?"_

_Jesse rubs the back of his neck. "Oh, I, uh, just thought you might wanna see what I've been workin' on."_

_Walt's eyes go unnaturally bright when he hears this. "You're finished?"_

_"I think so, yeah." Jesse smiles. "You wanna see?"_

_Jesse leads Walt into the basement, walking backwards to shield his project from Walt's line of sight. He's kind of theatrical. "So, I know it looks crappy, but apparently you can't just make one like you'd buy in a store, 'cause the recipe is 'top secret' or some shit, like it's a government scandal they don't want getting out." He also talks a lot when he's nervous. "And I didn't color it 'cause I didn't want the dye to bleed into everything else—"_

_Walt ends Jesse's verbal landslide. "I'm sure it's fine, Jesse."_

_Jesse stops walking before he reaches the table, pauses for dramatic effect. He's glad Walt isn't trying to look around him and sneak a peek before the official unveiling. "Alright. Check this shit out." Jesse steps aside to reveal a homemade lava lamp built out of a clear glass Sobe bottle and an aluminum sauce pan. "I made the lava out of mineral oil and used rubbing alcohol for the liquidy stuff." Mr. Scientific._

_Jesse can almost see Walt's brain exploding. Walt stares at the lamp in awe, entirely unafraid that it might explode. Maybe he's giving Jesse a little_ too _much credit. "You made this yourself?"_

_"No, the lava lamp fairy brought it," Jesse says, with as much sarcasm as possible. "Of course I did. That's why it looks shitty."_

_"It's not shitty," Walt says, and he sounds like he means it. "How did you get it to move?"_

_Jesse's not sure what Walt's asking here. "I switched on the light?"_

_"No, I mean, how did you combat the density of the mineral oil compared to the alcohol?" Walt knows the answer; he's just testing Jesse._

_"Use 70-percent and 90-percent rubbing alcohol and just mix 'em together to get a good balance. It's just kinda trial and error."_

_It seems as if talking science is the way to Walter White's heart. He looks at Jesse—_ really _looks at him—and moves closer, a glow of amazement and respect on his face. "This is remarkable work, Jesse. I'm impressed. See what you can do when you apply yourself?"_

_Jesse scoffs and rolls his eyes with humor. "So you like it? I think it looks pretty dope for a first try."_

_"What made you use that particular bottle? Why not, say, a wine bottle?"_

_"'Cause all the lava lamps I've seen are kinda small. But if it was too big, it wouldn't dissipate the heat fast enough, right?"_

_Walt looks straight-up_ dazzled _. It's actually kind of hilarious._

_"See, I know stuff," Jesse says, teasing._

_"You do." Walt moves in closer, until Jesse bumps the table when he backs up. Walt places one hand on the table behind Jesse, then the other, blocking him in. He turns his eyes on Jesse, and Jesse doesn't know how to feel on the receiving end of that stare. His body tells him to turn to jelly, to revel under it, bask in the appreciation and recognition he's getting from his hard-ass ex-chemistry teacher. But his brain says, "yo, what the fuck, this is gay as hell."_

_Jesse shuts his brain off and lets his blood come alive. Then there's no space between them anymore. Jesse's first instinct is to push Walt away, but he remembers that this is part of their deal, and kissing Walt is probably something he ought to get used to. Walt's mouth is pressed tight against Jesse's own, warm and wet and surprisingly soft. Jesse just stays there, trying to pretend his skin isn't burning. He isn't sure if he should kiss back, doesn't know if he wants to. But it's not as bad as he thought it would be. It feels like something he could get used to. Maybe._

_Walt tilts his head and sucks at the corner of Jesse's lips before he eases away from his mouth. Jesse gives a shaky exhale, his heart hammering in his chest. He has no idea why any of that happened. He should question the hell out of this, but all he can do is stare blankly at Walt and run his tongue over his bottom lip._

* * *

 

"Dude, I'm so glad you're here!" Badger says as Jesse's sitting on the flimsy, spring-laden mattress at Badger's apartment. "I mean, sucks about the divorce, but we get to hang! So you wanna play  _Call of Duty_  or—"

Jesse rubs a hand over his face. "I just wanna chill for a bit, okay?"

Badger steps back, giving Jesse some space. "Yeah, that's cool, that's cool. No problem. Just lemme know when you're hungry or somethin'."

Jesse nods and falls back on the bed. A spring digs into his shoulder blade. "Ay yo, can you close the door on your way out?"

"Sure, bro."

Jesse gives himself permission to start sobbing once the door shuts. Maybe Jesse would have asked Badger for a hit of crystal in a moment of weakness had this happened years ago. But he's been holding it all in for so long that letting out the tears and pain and rage sounds like the best thing in the world right now. An emotional cleansing of sorts. So he buries his face in a pillow and lets himself cry gut-wrenching, soul-tearing cries.

How could he let Walt chase him out of his own fucking house? He should have stood his ground, ordered Walt to leave. All he wanted was to avoid a violent altercation. But it still feels like the wrong move, like he's yielded to Walt's demands.

Jesse doesn't know when he falls asleep, but he wakes up the next morning with his face shoved into a pillow that smells like weed. He pries his eyes open and rolls onto his back. The door's still closed from last night. Jesse rubs a hand over his face, forces himself to sit up. He finds Badger playing Xbox in the living room.

"You okay?" Badger asks, keeping his eyes on the screen as he shoots 3D zombies.

Jesse makes a sound of acknowledgement and searches through the kitchen for something edible. He finds a nearly-empty box of Lucky Charms and a carton of milk that  _might_  be okay. "Yo, can I have this cereal?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

Jesse pours himself a bowl. "When was the last time you went to the store?"

"I dunno, like, two weeks ago?"

Jesse suspects Badger's out of cash, because back in the day he used to have at least two to three unopened bags of Bugles and Funyuns at any given time. Jesse wants to offer to help, to lend him a couple bucks for some groceries, but, God, that's money Jesse could use for the divorce he so desperately needs. He can become a philanthropist later; right now, he needs the divorce.

"So, uh, thanks for lettin' me crash for the night," Jesse says around a mouthful of cereal. "I owe you one."

"No problem, dude. Anything you need, I'm here."

Jesse finishes his breakfast and hates himself a little more.

* * *

 

Walt sits in the waiting room, flipping through a magazine to take his mind off why he's here. If Jesse insists on pushing, well, Walt's just gonna have to push back. Walt's always been a big fan of the tough love method, and it's worked well with Jesse so far. One more little push, just enough to knock Jesse down, then Walt can offer to help him up. Remind Jesse why he needs Walt.

The waiting room's done up in a Spanish style of décor, like the inside of an adobe home. Yes, Walt did his research in finding an attorney instead of hiring a two-bit, bus-bench lawyer like Saul Goodman. What could Jesse possibly see in that clown of a man?

Instead, Walt chose someone professional and respectable. Gustavo Fring may not have flamboyant suits or ridiculous commercials, but he has clout and a no-nonsense disposition. He owns the firm, Los Abogados Hermanos, alongside his partner Maximino Arciniega, and they've been practicing law here since their immigration to the US in 1989. Either Gus or Max would be a better choice of legal representation than an embarrassment like Saul Goodman.

The receptionist's voice rings out like a bell. "Mr. White? Mr. Fring will see you now."

Walt opens the door to Gus' office and steps inside. Gus stands up, greets him with a smile as Walt shuts the door. "Mr. White. Please, have a seat." His handshake is surprisingly firm for such a meek-looking man.

Walt sits across from him after Gus takes a seat at his desk. "Do you prefer Walter or Mr. White?"

"Walter, please."

Gus steeples his fingers. "What seems to be the problem, Walter?"

Walt places the papers on Gus' desk. "My husband has decided to divorce me."

"I see." Gus looks over the papers. "Is this your first divorce?"

Walt opens his mouth, closes it. "My last marriage ended rather... amicably. My intentions are to contest this."

Gus nods and asks Walt the usual questions: why they're divorcing, whether or not they're separated, the history of the marriage, biographical information about Walt and Jesse, health histories, the presence of children in the marriage.

"Does your husband have any"—Gus searches for the word—"proclivities that may cast him in a bad light? Reckless behavior, adultery, drug use—"

"I don't want to divorce him, Mr. Fring. I want to simply cease the proceedings."

Gus lifts an eyebrow.

"Jesse is completely financially dependent on me," Walt explains. "He has no job, not one where he could earn enough money to pay for this over the long-term. If we were to throw up roadblocks, let's say, to the process, roadblocks that would cost him money, he would have no choice but to drop the case. Am I understanding this correctly?"

Gus nods, but it's hesitant. "There are ways your husband can proceed with the case despite his financial situation. He can petition the court to waive the fees, or ask the judge to order you to pay his retainer. If he has friends or family willing to loan him money, that money can be counted as a credit which you might end up paying when the final decision is made."

Jesse would only ask his parents as a last resort, and although Jesse claims they don't care for Walt, Walt isn't entirely certain they'd write Jesse a huge check either. His parents weren't very involved in his life before Walt came along, and Jesse estranged himself from them after they voiced their disapproval of the marriage.

So Walt isn't too worried on that front. "This waiving the fees... He can ask the court to waive them, but it's not a guarantee, is it?"

Gus shakes his head. "The court will weigh that decision along with the facts of the case."

It's a risk, but Walt's willing to take it. "Then what are my options, in terms of roadblocks?"

"You realize these 'roadblocks,' as you call them, will cost you as well?"

Yeah, Walt's not too happy about that, but it shouldn't take long to drain Jesse of his funds. This isn't a long-term solution. "I do."

"Then the first thing we do is a short cause hearing. This is to establish a temporary order for various issues in dispute. I will schedule it, prepare the necessary court papers, respond to your spouse's papers, and appear in court to argue on your behalf. Your husband will have to pay his attorney as well."

"What kind of issues?"

"How much alimony to be paid, who gets to stay in the family home, whether either spouse may use or sell assets owned by both—for starters. All temporary decisions, of course. The wheels of justice do not turn quickly. It could be a year or more before your case goes to trial."

Walt's not even sure if he has that long. But he knows Jesse doesn't have that much money. This hearing will decimate his bank account and send him crawling back to Walt.


	4. Chapter 4

_March 2004_

_Jesse doesn't visit his parents very often, so when Mr. Pinkman opens the door and sees him standing there, he gives him a scrutinizing look, like Jesse's a vagrant urinating on the steps._

_"Jesse... It's been a while."_

_"Yeah. Can I come in?"_

_Mr. Pinkman lets him inside and leads him into the living room. Jesse can see his mother out in the back yard, pushing Jake on the swingset. "We were just about to have lunch," Mr. Pinkman says. "Would you like to join us?"_

_Jesse shakes his head. "No, that's—that's cool."_

_The porch door slides open, and Mrs. Pinkman and Jake come inside. "Jesse, what a surprise," Mrs. Pinkman says, holding her youngest son's hand. "Jake, you remember your brother Jesse."_

_Jesse smiles, crouches down and fistbumps Jake. "Hey, little bro."_

_Jake smiles back. "Hey."_

_They move into the kitchen to talk. Atop the table is an open coloring book and a box of crayons. Jake climbs into the chair and starts coloring. Jesse loiters in the kitchen, unsure if he's allowed to sit or not. His parents sort of barricade him inside. "So, what's going on in your life?" Mrs. Pinkman asks. "Staying out of trouble?"_

_Jesse rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, I, uh, I got married." He sticks his left hand up so they can see the ring._

_Mr. Pinkman gasps. "You're married?"_

_"How come you never told us?" Mrs. Pinkman asks._

_"It was sorta... sudden. There wasn't a big wedding. We just went to a courthouse," Jesse explains. "You didn't miss anything."_

_"We missed our son getting married," Mrs. Pinkman says with a hint of sadness. "Did you take pictures?"_

_"Not really," Jesse mumbles. He thinks it was probably the least romantic wedding ever, save for maybe the Red Wedding from_ A Song of Ice and Fire _._

_Mr. Pinkman looks wary, like he thinks Jesse married a prostitute or a stripper and that's why he kept this from them. "Well, we'd love to have you two over for dinner sometime. Get to know our new daughter-in-law."_

_Jesse chuckles humorlessly, glances away. "Yeah, um, you guys don't exactly have a daughter-in-law." This is the most awkward conversation Jesse's ever been a part of, and that's saying a hell of a lot._

_Jesse can see the cogs turning in their heads. Mrs. Pinkman puts it together first. "You married a man?"_

_Jesse doesn't say yes, but he doesn't say no either. He just sort of blushes and rubs the back of his neck and finds his shoes particularly interesting._

_To their credit, they don't seem offended or appalled, just... confused. And it's not like he can blame them. Jesse never expressed any interest in the same sex or uncertainties about his sexuality._

_Mr. Pinkman lifts an eyebrow. "Well, that's... different. Where did you meet?"_

_Jesse chews his nails. "At school..."_

_"One of your classmates? Anyone we know?"_

_Jesse takes a deep breath. "You remember Mr. White? Junior year chemistry?"_

_They look like they're waiting for him to elaborate, maybe talk about a student Jesse met in that class. When he doesn't say anything else, their eyes go wide, their posture stiffening, almost like a spasm. "You married your chemistry teacher?" Mrs. Pinkman says around a gasp, like he just told her he's the antichrist or that he summoned Cthulhu._

_Jesse gives them a half-smile. "Crazy, huh?"_

_Mr. and Mrs. Pinkman exchange glances. Jesse's pretty sure this wasn't covered in any of the parenting books or pamphlets. Someone should write one. It would come in handy in situations like this. What to Do When Your Son Marries His Teacher: A Guide for Parents._

_Jesse realizes he'll have to help them along here. "It's cool though. He got me clean, I'm takin' a couple classes at the community college... It's good."_

_"He came here to give us heart attacks," Mr. Pinkman says to his wife after a moment. Ha-fucking-ha._

_"This—this is a lot to take in at once," Mrs. Pinkman says. "How did this happen?"_

_"I, uh, I got in trouble a while back, Mr. White found out and made a deal with me. He'd help me get clean and pay for school as long as I let him move in, y'know, to keep an eye on me." Jesse isn't sure his parents will be very understanding of the truth since it's sort of borderline prostitution. They already think he's enough of a criminal. "So I took him up on it, and we went from there."_

_"At the risk of sounding insensitive, isn't he a little old for you?" Mr. Pinkman asks._

_"Age ain't nothin' but a number, yo."_

_"That's not entirely true, Jesse," Mrs. Pinkman warns. "You're both at completely different stages in your lives."_

_Jesse shrugs. "So? Mr. White doesn't care about that. He loves me."_

_"I thought he was married before," Mrs. Pinkman wonders aloud._

_"Yeah, but him and his wife split." Jesse looks at his parents' faces, doesn't see a lot of positivity there. "He's good though. He pays child support for his kid, visits every weekend. That's where he is now, actually." He smiles._

_Mrs. Pinkman tilts her head. "His family doesn't accept you?" It doesn't sound like a question._

_Jesse shrugs again, shuffles his feet. "It's not a big deal. I get why they don't want me around. I mean, his son is cool, but Mr. White thinks it's best to, like, ease him into the idea that he's got another dad now, y'know?" He doesn't seem to be winning them over. Jesse segues into the reason he's here. "But, uh, I wanted to ask you somethin'. Since I'm married now, Mr. White thought it'd be a good idea to, like, get property in my name. I was wonderin' if you guys would sign the house over to me. I mean, Aunt Ginny wanted me to have it, right?"_

_They exchange glances again. Jesse wonders if, when you've been married that long, you can just communicate entirely through eye contact, rendering words entirely unnecessary. Mrs. Pinkman sighs. "Jesse, I don't—I don't think that's a good idea."_

_Jesse hadn't been expecting this. He thought if he showed up clean and on the right track with his life that they'd cut him some more slack. "Why not?"_

_"We're very proud of you for kicking the drugs and going to school," Mr. Pinkman says. "But... this marriage you have with your teacher..." He trails off, unable to find the proper words._

_"It's not going to last, Jesse."_

_Jesse feels a pow. "What?"_

_At least they have the good sense to look beleaguered about this. "Plenty of our neighbors have gone through difficult times and made rash decisions," Mrs. Pinkman continues. She looks at her husband. "Remember when Mr. Harris had that affair with his secretary?"_

_Jesse doesn't understand why this is happening, why they still don't trust him after all the strides he's taken to clean up his act. "You don't trust me? Is that it?"_

_"It's not you," Mr. Pinkman says. "It's your husband we don't trust. You tell me you've gotten married in secret, I assume you've shacked up with some streetwalker or drug abuser. Why else would you hide it from us? But then you tell us it's your teacher, and I wonder why he wouldn't show his face here, at least ask to meet the parents of the boy he's marrying."_

_"I didn't know we were gettin' married," Jesse pleads. "It was, like, when you get hitched in Vegas, y'know? Just a spur of the moment thing. We didn't really have time to send out invitations."_

_"But he lived with you for a while, correct? During that time he never thought to sit down to dinner with us?"_

_"Why do you care, yo? This ain't the '50s. I don't need your permission to get married."_

_"No, you don't. But it shows respect," Mr. Pinkman says. "It shows he intends to become part of the family. I know your generation finds that kind of thing lame and outdated, but he wouldn't."_

_"So, what, just 'cause he didn't ask you for my hand or whatever, you're just gonna say no?"_

_"It's more than just that," Mrs. Pinkman says. "If he did urge you to go to school and get off the drugs, why wouldn't he encourage you to reconnect with your parents? Why doesn't he want you to spend time with his son? Why would he marry a nineteen-year-old he has nothing in common with?"_

_Jesse heaves out a deep sigh, drags a hand through his hair._

_"I just don't trust him. Obviously you've made your decision"—she glares at the ring on Jesse's finger—"but we're making ours. I don't see this relationship lasting very long, and when he decides to go back to his family, I don't want him trying to take your home with him."_

_"Mr. White won't do that!" Jesse protests._

_Mrs. Pinkman sighs. "I'm sorry, Jesse. Unless you have the money to buy the house, our answer is no."_

_"Why can't you just be happy for me?" Jesse growls. He shakes his head in disgust and turns away. "Screw this. I'm outta here."_

_Jesse sees himself out._

* * *

 

_Walt's already home when Jesse comes through the front door. He hears Jesse's footsteps on the stairs, then the sounds of quiet sobs growing nearer. "Jesse?"_

_Jesse appears in the doorway of their bedroom, tears in his eyes and agony on his face._

_"Jesse, what's wrong?" Walt asks, and Jesse rushes to him, sobbing and shaking. Walt pulls Jesse into the cradle of his arms, and he can feel Jesse's cries in his chest, deep and aching. "Are you alright?"_

_Jesse sniffles, staining Walt's shirt with tears and fracturing his heart. "I thought they'd be happy," he wails, the words cracking in his throat._

_"What are you talking about?" He threads a hand through Jesse's hair, guides them to the bed and sits. Jesse wraps his arms around Walt's neck and pulls him closer._

_"My parents. I told them we got married, all the stuff you did for me," Jesse says through spasming lungs. "I wanted to get the house in my name, like you said. But they don't trust you. They said you're gonna leave me." His voice breaks around the last few words. Walt feels his heart clench in shared agony._

_"I'm not going anywhere." Jesse sniffles again, his shoulders shaking. "Jesse, look at me." Jesse lifts his head. His eyes are wet and red and full of pain. Walt settles his hands on either side of Jesse's face. "I'm staying right here, okay? Everything's going to be fine."_

_Jesse's lower lip quivers. His hands fall away from Walt's shoulders and tangle loosely in the front of his shirt. "I wanted them to be happy for me..." he whimpers. "How come nothing I do is ever good enough?"_

_Walt doesn't know what to say, how to stop the tears from falling. He takes up Jesse's hands in his own and kisses the backs of them, hopes the press of mouth against skin and ink can salve his wounds. "Don't listen to them, Jesse. I'm your family now." Jesse's lips part in a soft gasp, and Walt presses his mouth over Jesse's own to sway his tears to dry. "We have each other. That's all that matters."_

_Jesse's hands snarl in the front of Walt's shirt, and he pulls him closer, kisses him hungrily, aggressive. Walt licks at Jesse's lower lip, savors the taste of him on his tongue. Jesse grabs at Walt's shoulders so he can climb into his lap, knees on either side of Walt's hips. "I love you," Jesse murmurs around a kiss, his arms wrapping around Walt's neck as his hips rock and shift in Walt's lap._

_It happens faster than Walt thought it would; Jesse gets them undressed, just enough to do the deed, and Walt feels saintly when Jesse sinks upon him, his arms wrapped tight around Walt's neck, fingers digging into his shoulders as Walt slides in. Jesse's tight and eager to please, moving in a quick, unpracticed pace, and Walt settles his hands on Jesse's hips to guide him, to make each movement resonate for both of them. Walt thinks he must have said something good earlier, something to make Jesse want to give back._

_Jesse's panting, "Mr. White, Mr. White," at Walt's ear, his fingers gnarled in Walt's shirt, hands shaking over his back. Neither of them last very long when they do this, too subsumed in the blistering heat of passion, and tonight is no exception. Jesse moans out in warning, a choked sound he only makes when he's close, and Walt nuzzles his face into the curve of his throat, squeezes Jesse's hips and rocks his own into the way Jesse's riding him. Jesse cries out and loses himself, and Walt's not far behind._

_Jesse shivers through his orgasm, whimpering and murmuring soft praises and heartfelt words as his body loosens up and the tension drains from his muscles. Walt litters delicate kisses over his skin and whispers Jesse's name. Jesse practically melts in his embrace, and Walt can feel the subtle shake of sobs racking Jesse's small body._

_"I love you," Jesse says over and over, holding Walt tight against him._

_"I love you too, Jesse."_

* * *

 

Jesse runs out of money one week later.

To be fair, it's not entirely his fault. It's that asshole Walt who keeps dragging this fucking thing out, forcing Jesse to pay for a pretrial hearing. It's grotesquely unfair, because Walt's the one with all the money, yet he's clinging onto it like a life-raft in a stormy sea. Jesse, meanwhile, is bled dry of his paltry funds, because Walt's a greedy asshole.

At least, that's how Jesse sees it.

On Monday morning, Jesse wakes up to an obnoxious sound coming from underneath his head. He blinks awake, lifts up the pillow and finds the culprit: his phone. The caller ID reads: Saul Goodman.

"Yo."

"Hey, Pinkman? Can you talk?"

"Yeah, what's up?" Jesse slurs out, still groggy.

"Aw, jeez, I didn't wake you, did I?"

"It's cool." Jesse sits up and tugs the blankets over his legs. "Is somethin' wrong?"

"Yes and no. Just, uh, drop by when you get a chance. I think we oughta discuss what's going on with the case, yeah?"

Jesse sighs. "I don't have any money, Saul. I can't pay for another meeting."

Saul's quiet for a moment, then: "I'll waive the fee, kid. C'mon, that's what I wanna talk to you about. It won't cost you a thing, okay?"

Jesse's reminded of the old adage:  _if it sounds too good to be true_... But he doesn't have a lot of options here, so he takes Saul up on the offer.

When Jesse gets dressed and goes downstairs into the kitchen, Walt's already waiting for him. "Where are you going?" he asks, like he genuinely gives a shit.

"I got a meeting with my lawyer."

Walt lifts an eyebrow. "He's hourly, you know."

"Yeah, he said he'd waive the fee."At Walt's look of surprise, Jesse adds with a sneer, "I want this divorce, and I'm not lettin' money stop me. I'll take a loan from my parents if it means gettin' away from you."

Walt looks like he wants to argue with that, mouth curling at the edges. But the anger vanishes as quickly as it appeared. "Jesse, why are you doing this to me? Just—stay with me a few more months, until the holidays are over. How long did your aunt have by the time she was stage 3?"

Jesse swallows back the lump in his throat. "Seven months."

"And that was with chemo, wasn't it?" Walt already knows it was. "Just a few more months, Jesse, and you'll be set for life," Walt says, intense now as he moves closer. It's as close to begging as Jesse's ever heard from him, but it still rings insincere somehow. "If you call off this divorce, you, as my spouse, will have my life insurance policy, my possessions, everything when I die."

Jesse stands there, stunned by Walt's words. It's not the most ideal solution—how the hell is he supposed to get through seven months when he can barely handle seven days?—but it would solve all of his current problems. Two birds with one stone, so to speak.

Walt grabs his things off of a nearby chair, shoves his arms into his jacket. "Just think about it, Jesse."

Jesse barely registers the sound of Walt's coughing as the front door shuts behind him.

* * *

 

"Glad you could make it," Saul says when Jesse drops into the couch in Saul's office. "So, how are things? You doin' okay?"

"He wants me to stay with him," Jesse drones out, still in somewhat of a daze. "He figures he's got a couple months left 'til he's gone, and then I get all his shit 'cause we'd still be married."

Saul sits on the edge of the table and faces Jesse. "Wow, he's really playin' hardball, huh?" He chuckles, but the levity fades when he notices Jesse's not sharing his mirth. "C'mon, kid, this is just a negotiation tactic. He's bluffing and he knows it. Why the long face?"

"'Cause Mr. White's dying," Jesse says, a shake in his voice. "I mean, I forget it sometimes 'cause he's such a dick to me, but, yeah, he's got cancer." He wipes his eyes with his hand. "But maybe I'm bein' a dick for leavin' the dude." He fights back the sting of tears.

"You're not obligated to stay married to someone who treats you the way he does. So what if he's sick?"

"'In sickness and health,' yo," Jesse says.

"Doesn't change the fact that he mistreated you before his diagnosis. Maybe his behavior could get a pass if it started once he got sick, but from what you've told me, this has been ongoing."

Jesse scrubs a hand through his hair. "I know, but—but maybe he's right, y'know? Like maybe I  _am_  being selfish and ungrateful."

"Abusive people are pros at making themselves sound like martyrs."

Jesse shakes his head, because it's easy for Saul to say Jesse's in the right here when he doesn't know the whole story. "I was nineteen when Mr. White and I got together. His douchebag brother-in-law picked me and my partner up on possession. I guess he figured out I was one of Mr. White's students, 'cause he called Mr. White braggin' about how he arrested 'that dumb junkie you used to bitch about.'" Jesse winces at the words. "But Mr. White bailed me out, took me to dinner and made me a deal. 'You go to school for something—anything—and I'll pay for tuition and help you get clean.' All I had to do in return was be his boyfriend. Which, at first, just meant givin' him a handjob every other night or so. Whatever, y'know?"

Saul doesn't look uncomfortable, so that's good. Jesse reaches into the pocket of his jeans and takes out a pack of cigarettes. "Can I smoke in here?"

Saul hands him an ashtray from the other side of the table.

Jesse lights up and takes a long drag. The nicotine helps calm him down and takes his nerves off the edge. "I had him move in with me, and everything was okay for a while, I guess. When we started havin', like, real sex, it was weird at first but it was kinda nice... It felt like he actually liked me." Stupid, now that he thinks about it. "So then when they started doin' same-sex marriages here, Mr. White and I got married."

"Was it his idea?"

Jesse nods, as if realizing what Saul's hinting at. "I was in love with him though, so of course I was like, 'hell yeah, bitch.'"

"Why'd you take the deal in the first place?" Saul asks, curious more than accusing.

"It sounded pretty sweet. Go to college, kick the crystal, get everything paid for, and all I gotta do is jerk a dude off every once in a while?"

"Prostitutes do the same thing, and they don't have to marry the guy."

"Mr. White was different," Jesse says, taking another drag. "He said he wanted me. And it's not like I had any other options."

"Do you think he loved you? In the beginning, I mean."

"He had to, right? I mean, why would he offer me all that shit if he didn't care?"

Saul looks at him like Jesse's a wounded animal. "Oh, kid... I know you didn't ask for my advice, but, hey, I'm a lawyer, that's what I do: advise—so I'm giving it anyway. Here's how I see it: Walt sees you, a wayward teenager, and he makes you an offer you can't refuse. Then, when Sandoval County starts licensing same-sex marriages, he sees that as an opportunity to legally bind you to him. 'Cause, yeah, we've dressed it up and made it about romance, but marriage is all about property. I think he gets off on you owing him, on every nice gesture on his part being some sort of debt you have to pay back."

Jesse stays quiet and takes another puff.

"This new development you told me about? Just another stalling tactic," Saul continues. "How come before it was 'no, Jesse, don't leave me,' and now it's 'just seven more months'? He could be one of those miracle patients who lives for years. Or, hey, what if he starts secretly getting treatment the minute you agree to stay? Odds are he left everything he owns to his kid. There's no way you're getting anything when he dies. Don't fall for it."

Jesse feels the tears again. "What if he's right though? About me not bein' able to make it on my own?"

"Then why wouldn't he just agree to pay you the alimony you're requesting instead of making you go through a hearing? He's fighting this because he doesn't care about you, just what you can offer him. If you're not around to give him blowjobs or an engorged ego, he's not gonna support you. That's not love, kid."

Jesse shakes his head as tears drip down his cheeks. "No, you're wrong. He loves me."

"Explain it to me," Saul says in a gentle voice. "What do you see that I don't? Make me understand."

Jesse doesn't know how. He sniffles and wipes his face with his hand. "I just know. He loves me and he needs me, and I'm just walkin' out on him."

"He needs you, just not like you think."

"Why do you have to, like, over-analyze everything? Maybe Mr. White's just a dick sometimes. Why's there gotta be some dark, awful reason for it?"

Saul breathes out a sigh. "Why are you making excuses for him? Up until now, you were gung-ho about a divorce. Did he really get under your skin?"

Jesse stares at the skeleton of ash at the end of his cigarette. "My aunt died of cancer. Same kind Mr. White has. I, uh, moved in with her and took care of her when I was in high school." His eyes fill with tears again. "She didn't last very long."

Saul does that thing with his eyebrows that ties Jesse up in knots. "You think you owe Walt because of her?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Look, kid, I'm a divorce lawyer, not a therapist, alright? If you want, I can recommend you to a couple good shrinks, but I'm not that kind of counselor."

Jesse nods, ashamed that he even brought it up. Of course this isn't Saul's area of expertise. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's okay. I get it. There's nothing wrong with wanting somebody to talk to." He watches Jesse with concern. "You wanna hear the good news?"

"Yeah," Jesse croaks out. He takes another drag off the cigarette.

"Well, the good news is I can't see him dragging the pretrial proceedings out very much. I mean, most of the contention in divorces is over custody and property, and since that's not the problem with you guys..." Saul spreads his hands.

Jesse plucks at his lower lip. "And what's the bad?" He takes one last drag off the cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray.

"The bad news is Walt will probably play the cancer card with the judge and paint you as some ungrateful kid bailing on him. Not sayin' it's right, just guiding you through the judge's thought process here. Best case scenario: you get what you're asking for. Worst case: you have to pay Walt. If this goes to trial, there's a chance you'll take a severe hit to the pocketbook."

Jesse groans, rubs his free hand over his face.

"But, hey, I'm all about the silver lining, right? Ninety percent of court cases settle before trial begins. So, there's that."

"We both know he won't settle."

"Yeah, I was trying to be optimistic." Saul watches Jesse for a moment. "Remember, you can borrow money. I mean, if that's a feasible option for you..."

"Yeah, I can—I can ask my parents. They never liked him anyway."

Saul keeps looking at him, like he's searching Jesse's face for something. Jesse wants to hide under the gaze, disguise the way his cheeks flush pink. "It's worth a try, at least. You shouldn't have to go bankrupt because of him."

For the length of one heartbeat, Jesse thinks about grabbing Saul's lapels and dragging him in for a kiss, because Saul's charming and funny and attractive and kinder than anyone's been in a while, and it's been so long since Jesse felt like he wasn't dirt under someone's shoe.

But instead Jesse just says, "Yeah."

* * *

 

Jesse pays his parents a visit the next day after classes. His mother answers the door, looking a little shocked to see him. He can't blame her; he hasn't exactly been a frequent visitor the past couple of years. Jesse didn't see the point in inviting them over when they made their opinion on Walt absolutely clear. Now, Jesse wishes he had listened to them.

"Jesse, this is a surprise," Mrs. Pinkman says, opening the door for him. "What's the occasion?"

Jesse shrugs. "No occasion." He looks around the foyer, peers into the living room. He figures Jake must be in school. "Dad home?"

"He's out back. I'll let him know you're here." Mrs. Pinkman heads for the back yard. Jesse makes his way into the kitchen. The refrigerator is covered in family photo magnets, drawings, and a typed essay with a huge red "A+!" at the top. Jake the Overachiever strikes again. Jesse can't even find it in him to be jealous. He wishes he had done more with his life, done it without Walt pulling the strings.

His father's voice sounds from the entryway. "Jesse, it's good to see you," he says with an honest smile.

Jesse briefly wonders who pumped his dad full of Prozac. "Yeah, you too." He pulls a chair out from the kitchen table and sits. His parents follow suit, sensing a discussion on the rise.

Mrs. Pinkman must see something on his face, because she asks, "Are you getting enough sleep? You look exhausted."

Jesse brings a hand to his mouth, chews his nails. "It's just stress."

"Exams coming up?" Mr. Pinkman asks.

Mrs. Pinkman's gaze stays on Jesse's hands. He thinks she's going to scold him for biting his nails—an old habit—but instead she says, "Are you having trouble at home?"

Jesse looks at her in astonishment.

"Your ring is gone," she points out. "And it's been gone for a while, hasn't it?"

Jesse looks at his hand. The band of paler skin that once wrapped around his ring finger has tanned to match his overall skin tone. He nods, swallowing thick in his throat. "Yeah."

"Did he do something?" Mrs. Pinkman asks with an edge of horror in her voice.

Jesse shakes his head. "I'm getting a divorce."

His parents share a look, as if to say, "We knew it." But they don't gloat over it. Mrs. Pinkman reaches out and lays her hand over his own. "I'm so sorry to hear that." It sounds like she means it, and maybe she does, if only for Jesse's sake.

"I'm not," Jesse murmurs.

"How is that going?" Mr. Pinkman asks. "Is he—is he agreeable?"

"Dude's bankrupting me, is what he's doing. He knows I don't make much money, and he's just tryin' to stretch this out so I go broke."

"You need money?" Mr. Pinkman says, cutting through the pretense. "Is that why you're here?"

Jesse sniffles and wipes a hand over his face. "I thought I could do it myself. But I'm totally out. He squeezed me dry. My lawyer said if you loan me money it gets counted as a credit, so I can get it paid back at the end of the trial. I'll give you back every penny. I just—I just need help." His voice breaks a little at the end, because he's in over his head, and his parents are his last hope.

His parents share another look, this time with more concern. Jesse's rarely cried in front of them—yelled and cursed, absolutely. But as Jesse got older, public displays of tears grew scarce. He doesn't know if they'll believe him or see it as a manipulation tactic.

"I'm almost done with school," he says. "This is my last semester. So if I don't get a lot of money in the trial, I can get a better job and pay you back. It won't be all at once, but I'll try."

Mrs. Pinkman studies him for a second. "Is Walt abusing you?"

The question hits him like a wet slap. Jesse's lower lip quivers. "It's—it's not like you think. Nothing I can prove. But he's—he's guilting me into calling it off and staying with him. He says shi—stuff like, 'after everything I've done for you' and 'you were just a worthless junkie before I came along.'" Jesse wonders if the words hurt so much because they're true.

Mr. Pinkman bites his lips together. "Your attorney, do you think he would be willing to meet with us?"

Jesse nods. "Yeah, totally. He's cool."

"We'd like to speak with him, just to make sure everything's on the up-and-up. That won't be a problem, will it?"

This might be their way of ensuring Jesse's being honest about his intentions for the money. He's been clean for five years, too set in his ways to screw it all up now, but the seeds of distrust are still firmly planted in his parents' heads.

"No, no problem."

Mr. Pinkman nods. "Good."

"We can't pay for everything, Jesse," Mrs. Pinkman reminds him, "but we can help the best we can."

Jesse smiles. "Yeah, no, that's great. I need all the help I can get." He doesn't mention that he doesn't have anywhere else to turn, but he doesn't need to. They know.


	5. Chapter 5

_November 2003_

_Jesse wakes up to the sound of water running from across the hall. The sun's not even up yet. Why the hell is Walt taking a shower now?_

_Jesse rubs his tired eyes and throws the blankets off, pads out to the bathroom. The door's open just enough to let the steam out, so Jesse sneaks inside. He thinks about drawing a dick in the fogged-up mirror, doodles a heart instead. Walt's singing quietly to himself, a tune that Jesse recognizes but can't place._

_"Yo, do 'Enter Sandman,'" Jesse teases, pulling his t-shirt over his head._

_"Jesse? What are you doing up?"_

_"I could ask you the same thing." Jesse strips off his boxers and pushes aside the shower curtain to join Walt under the water. Color floods his cheeks at the sight of Walt wet and naked, and, holy shit, Jesse didn't think this through; just because they've jerked each other off a couple times doesn't mean he's ready for the, uh, full monty. His brain immediately goes to all the places it shouldn't._

_Jesse makes a choked noise in his throat. He's rock hard now, and there's no way Walt can't notice that. Jesse attempts to valiantly ignore Walt's... everything, and steps inside the basin. Walt tenses, and it takes Jesse a moment to notice Walt's sort of staring at his crotch. Jesse isn't sure how to react to that. Should he be proud, smug, or pretend it's some sort of medical condition?_

_He goes with option D: ignore it. He moves closer, curls a hand around Walt's wrist. "How come you're up so early?"_

_"I have a meeting," Walt says, glancing down again at Jesse's dick before distracting both of them with a kiss. He twists his free hand into Jesse's wet hair, crushes their mouths closer. Jesse sighs around the kiss, his embarrassment forgotten. It's crazy how much he wants this, how much he wants Walt. It's only been a couple weeks since their first, awkward foray into sexual touching, but they're getting better at it, easing into familiarity._

_Jesse smiles, a hint of deviance in his grin. "You should skip." He slides a hand down Walt's side and settles it over the curve of his hip. "We could have fun."_

_Walt's not oblivious to how close Jesse's hand is to his dick; Jesse watches his Adam's apple bob with a swallow, the lust in his hooded eyes. "I can't," he says, sounding for all the world like he wishes he could._

_"I know you can't have fun, but I think it's worth trying." Jesse smirks and presses closer, moving them directly under the hot spray._

_Walt rolls his eyes. "I can't skip this meeting. If I had the same lackadaisical work ethic you had in school, I'd be out of a job."_

_"Hey, I think I turned out pretty good," Jesse says with humor, because Walt's always cranky in the morning. "C'mon, Mr. White." He skims a hand down the top of Walt's thigh; Walt sucks in a quiet breath. "It'll be the_ shit _," he says, dragging out the word. "I got a surprise for you."_

_Walt lifts an eyebrow. "Oh?" His voice shakes around that one word._

_"Yeah, I think you'll like it." Jesse glances down at Walt's erection and wets his lips. He hears Walt's breath hitch in his throat. All he'd have to do is kneel down and open his mouth. Jesse thinks he could do it, knows Walt wouldn't stop him. But he's so new at all of this, he can't afford to screw up now, not when they're stumbling in the dark trying to make this work._

_And that's not what he has in mind anyway._

_"Do I get a hint?" Walt's hot and tight-hard in Jesse's hand, and he bites his lip to smother a groan at the slow side along his dick._

_Jesse grins at the way Walt responds to him. "Nope. You just gotta wait 'til you get home. Unless"—he tweaks the head of Walt's cock with his thumb—"you blow today off and spend it with me."_

_Walt's brow creases, and he closes his eyes, tips his head back. "You drive a hard bargain, but I have responsibilities."_

_Jesse shrugs like it doesn't matter, his fist moving up and down and twisting and squeezing. "A'ight, well, have fun with a boner that won't quit," he says. "Least I can get rid of mine."_

_Jesse feels Walt shiver at his touch. "I'm sure I'll manage." The breath shakes in Walt's lungs, and his hand wraps tight around the back of Jesse's neck before he drags him in for a kiss. Walt's mouth is a furnace, hot and furious against Jesse's own, biting at Jesse's lips each time his wrist does something to set Walt's nerves ablaze._

_"I'll miss you though," Jesse says around the kiss. "It's boring when you're not around."_

_Walt swears into Jesse's mouth, and Jesse can tell he's close from the way his body shakes and his fingers dig in. "Jesse," he gasps before a few more strokes have him falling apart and spilling over Jesse's hand. Jesse holds him close and jerks him through the aftershocks. When he takes his hand away, he thinks about lifting his fingers to his mouth and tasting Walt on his tongue, but his orgasm's washed away by the water raining down on them._

_Walt kisses him again, slow and dirty, then he's shoving his back against the tile and stroking Jesse 'til he's seeing stars._

* * *

 

_It feels like it takes eons, but eventually Walt makes it home that evening. Jesse prepares a decadent meal which Walt praises through famished bites. "Your cooking is remarkable," Walt says._

_Jesse beams at the praise. "I thought you'd like it. I remember you liked the chicken you had when we went out on Friday, so I wanted to try to make somethin' similar."_

_"I think yours is better."_

_Jesse feels his cheeks go hot. His face hurts from the goofy smile stretching his mouth._

_Walt looks up from his plate with a look of realization. "Is this the surprise?"_

_"Nope."_

_Walt lifts his eyebrows, as if he can't imagine what could be better. It's gonna seem pretty obvious in hindsight though, so Jesse doesn't give him any hints. He briefly considers gliding his foot up Walt's leg underneath the table, but Walt probably fought an arduous battle with his hormones today—no need to exacerbate his sexual frustration._

_Jesse catches Walt later that evening in the guest room, which strikes him as strange, because Walt's been spending the past few nights in Jesse's bed, curled alongside him. "Yo, what're you doin' in here?"_

_"I was just going through some things," Walt says. He's got the second drawer of the dresser open, and Jesse peers inside, curious as to its contents. He spots folded underwear, rolled up socks, and a collection of various photographs and knick-knacks. "Mostly old pictures."_

_Jesse reaches for the stack of photos in Walt's hand, and Walt gives them to him. Jesse looks through the pictures, eager to learn about Walt's past, the man he was before Jesse knew him. Most of the photos depict people Jesse doesn't know, but there's a few aged Polaroids of Walt himself. Jesse snickers. "You were kinda hot back in the day. Not—not that you're not now, y'know, just sayin'."_

_Walt's mouth curls into a smile._

_Jesse finds a picture of a younger Walt with a man and a woman Jesse recognizes from previous photos. "Who're they?"_

_"My old business partners. We founded a research facility called Gray Matter."_

_Something in Walt's tone tells Jesse not to poke at that. Maybe they had a falling out. Best to leave it alone for now. Jesse flips through more pictures. There's some of Walter Junior as a baby, then as a toddler, Walt's ex-wife in various stages of their marriage, and more of Walt with people Jesse doesn't know. A very small, needy part of Jesse wishes Walt had pictures of him too, but he knows not to pull at that thread yet._

_Jesse hands the stack of photos to Walt, who tucks them away in the drawer. "You busy?" Jesse asks. "'Cause I can come back later if you're doin' something important."_

_Walt gives him that gentle smile that reaches his eyes. "What do you need, Jesse?"_

_"I wanted to give you your surprise." Jesse lays his hands over Walt's chest, curls his fingers in the fabric of his shirt. He smiles in a way he hopes is open, seductive, eager. But he probably looks like a dork._

_"Ah, the elusive surprise," Walt teases, letting Jesse guide him to the bed. "Well, I don't think I'm too busy for that."_

_Jesse's fingers work open the buttons of Walt's shirt. He eases his palm inside, feels the heat of Walt's skin. He tilts his head up and captures Walt's mouth underneath his own. Walt tends to take control of their kisses pretty quickly, which Jesse finds inconceivably hot. His hands are warm on either side of Jesse's face. Jesse hums a contented sound into Walt's mouth and plucks his remaining shirt buttons free._

_Walt's lips are on Jesse's throat now, sucking at the throbbing pulse in his neck. Jesse tips his head back and moans, "Mr. White," his hands shaking as he tugs at Walt's belt. Walt helps him with that, unbuckling and unfastening, then his pants work over his hips with ease. Jesse pulls both of them onto the bed so Walt's on top of him. Walt kisses Jesse's mouth, rough and needy, and Jesse can feel the heat of his hand sliding under his thigh._

_Jesse grinds his hips into Walt's own. Walt moans into Jesse's mouth and pushes back. He's nice and hard between Jesse's legs. Jesse smiles around the kiss, pleased that Walt's responded to his awkward overtures. He tugs at Walt's hair and detaches their mouths long enough to pant, "I want you."_

_"You've got me," Walt says, shoving his hands underneath Jesse's t-shirt and skimming over his sides._

_Jesse presses them back together, grunts, "Inside," around Walt's mouth and rolls his hips again, because apparently he's not hinting loudly enough. Walt eases back to lick his lips and swallow. His gaze bores into Jesse's, and Jesse wets his mouth and breathes out, "Yeah, yeah, I want it."_

_Walt takes Jesse's mouth under his own, his hands frantic now as they pull and tug at Jesse's clothes, eager to have him bare. Jesse kicks his way free of his jeans, lets Walt push his hands into Jesse's boxers and tug them down his thighs. Walt doesn't even bother touching Jesse's dick or mouthing kisses over his skin; Jesse's rock hard already. There will be time for that later when they're sweaty and satisfied._

_"Turn over," Walt orders, and Jesse's a little embarrassed at how much he likes that. Jesse does as he's told, turns onto his stomach, and he watches Walt dig through the nightstand for a condom. With all the jittery arousal pumping through him, Jesse knows he's not going to last very long at all._

_He jumps a little at the heat of Walt's hands wrapping around his hips and tugging him to his knees. His breath catches in his throat, and his heart feels like it's going to burst out of his chest. There's a press and a push, then Walt's easing his way in, and Jesse can't help the moan that bubbles out. It's too much—Walt's too big and too deep already—but Jesse doesn't tell him to stop. He likes the way Walt feels inside of him, huge and hot, stretching him out as he sinks deeper. Jesse buries his face into the pillow and nudges his hips back, shifting his body into the push._

_He hears Walt make a low rumble of want, and Jesse loves what that sound does for his dick. "Jesse..." Walt sighs out, then his hips start moving. Jesse never knew his body could just_ force _sounds out of him, but each time Walt rocks into him it pushes a squeak or sigh of pleasure past his lips. He feels the heat of Walt's body curving over his back. Jesse tries to move into it, but Walt's doing a pretty good job of keeping Jesse satisfied, so he just stays still and lets Walt take what he needs._

_"Mr. White..." A shadow moves over his head, and he can see one of Walt's arms stretched out, grabbing onto the headboard for leverage as he shoves in harder. There's a tight clench building in Jesse's gut, and Walt's heavy on top of him, strong enough to keep him in place. Jesse claws at the pillows and huffs his way through Walt's thrusts. "Oh God," he gasps, his lungs shaking, "Mr. White—I'm coming..."_

_Walt's fingers bite into Jesse's hip. "It's okay. Come for me, Jesse."_

_Jesse can't help it—Walt fucking into him good and deep, murmuring low and gritty at his ear is all it takes to break him apart. Walt's swearing in his throat, his hips pounding harder until he just loses it and shudders to a stop, his body going tight as he lets himself go. He's breathing Jesse's name against the air, riding out his orgasm in slowing pulses of hips that Jesse pushes into. Jesse shakes and pants his way through the comedown._

_He thinks that could have gone so much worse. As far as first times go, that was probably good, right? Jesse feels the void where Walt once was and rolls onto his back. His stomach's covered in jizz, his muscles loose and rubbery. Walt looks down at him, crawls over him and claims Jesse's mouth. Jesse sighs around the kiss, still sort of catching his breath. He clings to the nearest part of Walt he can reach until Walt eases back._

_Jesse lets him go, watches him grab his underwear off the floor and disappear in the doorway. He wonders if Walt's coming back. Maybe Jesse's a complete failure at sex and Walt never wants to look at him again. But Jesse doesn't think Walt would have kissed him if that were the case. He probably just went to take a leak, and saying so would be the least sexy thing ever so he just left in silence. Yeah, that's probably it._

_Jesse works his boxers back on and sits at the edge of the bed. After a moment, Walt comes back to the bedroom, his tighty-whities on full display, and, God, he should probably just_ not _wear underwear. Jesse doesn't say anything, just watches Walt bring out a damp cloth and clean up the sticky mess on Jesse's belly._

_Jesse's face feels like it's on fire, because this is strangely intimate in a way he's almost certain they're not. But, yeah, he did just let Walt fuck him, so maybe they've crossed a couple lines._

_"Was it—was it okay?" Jesse asks, and, man, he couldn't sound more like an awkward virgin if he tried._

_"It was good, Jesse," Walt says, but it sounds like so much more._

* * *

 

Jesse doesn't call off the divorce, which Walt can only assume is due to attaining more funds. He must have asked his parents for extra money, but Walt's a little surprised they actually wrote him the check. It seems as if Jesse's hell-bent on this divorce, so Walt segues into Plan B.

He calls Skyler one afternoon while Jesse's at work. "Walt?" she answers with surprise in her voice.

"Skyler, hey. How are things?"

"We're fine." There's an edge of suspicion there, like she knows he's not just calling for a friendly chat. Skyler was always good at sniffing out Walt's ulterior motives. "Are you alright?"

"I'm okay. I was just wondering if you were busy this weekend."

Walt can practically see her death glare over the phone. "Are you trying to ask me out?"

"Not exactly. I thought if you were busy you might appreciate it if I took Junior off your hands. I could take him out driving, get him some practice behind the wheel."

Skyler makes a sound like she wants to argue, but how can she deny her son time with his ailing father? "I guess that's okay. I'll have to ask him, make sure he doesn't already have plans with Louis." There's a short pause, then: "What's really going on, Walt?"

Walt sighs, aggrieved that she's sensed his emotional turmoil. "Jesse and I are having...problems."

To her credit, she doesn't laugh and say "I told you so." "Because of the cancer?"

"He claims there are other things at play, but he's never wanted to separate before."

Skyler hears the subtext there. "Is he leaving you?"

Walt's quiet for a second too long.

"He is, isn't he?"

"It's—it's very complicated, Skyler," Walt protests. He doesn't want to hear her gloat about this, not now. "But I'm handling it. Everything will work itself out. For now, I just want to spend some time with my son."

Walt takes Junior out driving on Saturday. Junior stays relatively quiet, responding to Walt's questions with one-word answers. It doesn't take a genius to get the hint that he's upset about something. Walt decides to prod at that while they're parked in an empty lot. "What's wrong, son? You seem like something's bothering you."

Junior heaves a deep sigh. "Because you're just—you're just giving up. After all I've been through, and you're scared of a little chemo."

"I'm not scared. It's just... Well, it's just not cost-effective. If I go with this treatment, that's, what, $90,000 toward something that may or may not work. And if it does work, I may survive a few more years, but what good will they be if I'm too sick to enjoy them?" Junior's brow furrows, but he looks like he's listening. "When I'm gone, I want to leave you and your mother—and Jesse, of course—with something. Jesse's aunt had the same kind of cancer I do. She had treatments, and Jesse's told me how miserable she was through it all. She only lasted seven months. I could last longer than that, or not, but I don't want to be miserable. Do you understand?"

Junior barely nods. "I—I think so."

"Would it help if we spent more time together? Instead of just weekends, maybe I could come over some nights after school? If it's okay with your mother, of course."

Another nod. "Yeah, that—that would be cool. But what about Jesse?"

"Jesse's fine with this arrangement. He actually suggested it."

Junior's expression softens, like that makes him feel better. "Okay, yeah."

Walt smiles. "You want to go do something? Maybe see a movie?"

"Sure."

* * *

 

The week before Thanksgiving, Walt catches Jesse one morning before work. "Have you made a decision about our, uh, holiday arrangements?" he asks, putting on his best innocent face.

Jesse gives him a skeptical look. "What're you talkin' about?"

"Seeing as school will be out for Thanksgiving break, both of our schedules seem to be clear. Are we having Thanksgiving here, together, or would you prefer I spend it with Skyler and Walter Junior?"

Jesse hesitates, because he doesn't want to be too quick to answer. "I think—I think you should spend it with your kid, y'know? He'd like that." Walt's been spending most of his time with them anyway, which Jesse's grateful for, but it makes more sense for Walt to spend the holidays with his son. How many more chances is he going to get?

Walt's an inch away from looking suspicious, as if Jesse's suggested something outrageous. "You'll be by yourself."

"I'll see if my parents want me around. If not, you'll have leftovers to come home to." Jesse forces up a smile. He doesn't want to push too hard, but, God, he really needs this time away from Walt. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

Walt gives that some thought. "Maybe I could stay there the night before, spend the day with Walter Junior..."

"Yeah, he's only fifteen. He needs you more than I do."

Walt opens his mouth to argue that, but he closes it, as if there's some measured consideration going on in his head that tells him that would be unwise. "Maybe you're right."

So that's how Jesse scores the house to himself for two straight days—the day before Thanksgiving and the holiday itself. Walt had worried Jesse would be alone, but Jesse needs time to decompress. Having Walt gone for an entire forty-eight hours is psyching him the fuck up right now. Maybe he rolls a joint to celebrate. Whatever. It's his house; he can totally do that, especially when Walt's not here.

After two joints, Jesse starts to get bored. Because lying around the house smoking pot and playing video games can only be entertaining for so long. He's lying on his bed, breathing in the fumes while he scrolls through his phone. Saul's name snags his attention, and Jesse wonders about him. Does he have a family? He didn't see a wedding ring, but that doesn't mean anything. Saul might have a girlfriend or a boyfriend, somebody to spend his days with.

Jesse does something spectacularly stupid, because the ideas he gets while high are never his best: he presses the little phone icon next to Saul's name.

It rings twice before Saul answers. "Pinkman?"

"Yo, what's up? You busy?"

"Depends on what you need."

"Mr. White's outta town for the next two days. You, uh, you wanna come over and watch a movie or somethin'?" He can't believe these words are coming out of his mouth. He's the stupidest person alive. Why is he even allowed to make decisions?

Saul chuckles, but it's not the derisive, "you're such an imbecile" chuckle that Walt does. It's light and airy. "Seriously?"

"I—I mean, if you're not busy or nothin'... Whatever, forget it. It's stupid."

He almost hangs up, but he hears Saul's voice on the other end. "What? No, it's not stupid. It's just... I've never been invited to hang out with a client before."

Now it's Jesse's turn to say, "Seriously?"

"I mean, c'mon, who actually wants to hang out with their attorney?"

"I do," Jesse says. And of course it has nothing to do with the fact that he's nursing a crush on Saul. Nope. No way. That's crazy talk.

"Alright, maybe I'll swing by."

Jesse gives him the address and hangs up. Okay, scratch that: his ideas while high are outrageously stupid. He can't believe he just did that. Jesse takes a deep breath, tries to stem the panic building in his chest. This probably isn't the end of the world. He just invited his attorney—his cute, funny, charming attorney—to his house while his husband's gone for two days. Nothing bad could possibly happen, right?

Christ, it's like an episode of  _Desperate Housewives_. Jesse's not high enough to handle this.

He gets through one more joint before the doorbell rings. Jesse stumbles his way down the stairs and swings the door open. Saul's standing there looking dapper as fuck in khakis and a crisp green shirt. His tie's a little loose too.  _Damn_. Jesse wets his lips, which he's absolutely blaming on the pot.

Saul gets one whiff of him and laughs. "Whoa! Bob Marley called, he wants his stash back."

Shit, he probably  _does_  smell like a marijuana farm. Not the best first impression of Casual Jesse.

"Is that why you had me come here?" Saul asks. "'Cause you're, uh, one toke over the line, as the song goes?"

Jesse just rolls with it. "Yeah, totally. You wanna come in?" That probably sounds more awkward than it ought to be, but maybe not, because Saul's stepping into the foyer, and Saul as a guest in Jesse's home is weirdly different than Saul in his office.

"Wow," Saul says, looking around the living room, "this is some next level grandma decorating."

"This used to be my aunt's place, so, yeah."

"That's good. For a moment I thought you had horrible taste."

"I got good taste in lawyers though," Jesse says with a hint of flirtation that Saul  _definitely_  catches, because the way he blushes and his eyes go wide is so easy to read.

"I hope your taste in movies is just as good," Saul says, taking another sniff. "But I feel like  _Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle_ is in my future."

"Hey,  _Harold & Kumar_ is the shit," Jesse bites back before realizing he's not disproving Saul's point. "But, uh, the DVDs are in the bedroom. You can pick the movie, I guess." Jesse leads him up the stairs into the bedroom.

The smell of pot hangs in the air like a thick curtain of fog. Saul takes one step inside and coughs. "Jesus, it's my 21st birthday all over again."

Jesse whirls around to face him. "You smoked?" He tries to picture Saul smoking pot, but his brain's just not up to it.

"Yeah," Saul says, offended by the surprise in Jesse's voice.

Jesse can't  _not_  laugh at that. It's just too hilarious to imagine. Now he can't  _stop_  laughing, and Saul's taking Jesse's amusement as some sort of personal insult.

"Nobody got out of the '70s smellin' like roses," Saul says. "Weed and patchouli, definitely. But no roses."

Jesse's still giggling, and he hates it because he sounds like a fucking ten-year-old girl when he giggles, but he  _can't stop,_  and why is this happening to him? He has to sit on the bed and smother the sounds of his laughter into his hands for a moment. Saul waits patiently in the doorway, arms folded over his chest in a particularly pouty way.

"For the sake of my self-esteem, I'm gonna attribute your amusement to the huge bowl you must've smoked before I showed up," Saul grumbles.

"I'm sorry," Jesse manages through dying giggles, "I just can't picture you bein' all laid back and blazin' it, y'know?" He leans across the bed and reaches for the baggie of weed on the night table. "Yo, I still got some. Whadd'ya say, for old times' sake?"

Saul laughs and shakes his head like he cannot believe this is real. "I'm not gonna smoke pot just so you think I'm cool."

"Never said anything about provin' you're cool, dude." Jesse starts rolling the joint anyway, because if Saul doesn't want it he's smoking it. "Just for a throwback."

Saul gives this a moment of careful deliberation before sighing and approaching the bed. "Fine. I could use something to take the edge off."

Jesse grins. "Alright, I knew you had it in you." Saul plucks the blunt from Jesse's fingers when he's finished rolling it. "Impatient, much?" Jesse snickers, handing him a light. Saul flicks on the flame and takes a deep drag. Jesse watches with wide eyes, because, holy shit, Saul's a pro.

"Wow," Jesse says, awed. "You were totally serious."

Saul breathes out a long plume of smoke. "Of course."

"This is awesome! I've never had, like, somebody I could smoke with. All my other friends use, uh, harder stuff, and I don't wanna be tempted, y'know..." Jesse rubs the back of his neck. "And Mr. White..." He groans and rolls his eyes. "He gets on my ass all the time about it. I'm like, 'it's a fuckin' plant, yo.'" Jesse risks a glance at Saul. "Can you get in trouble for smoking pot and bein' a lawyer?"

"I'm sure I'm toeing the line of legality just a bit, but you gotta break the rules every now and then, right?" A smirk tugs at the corner of Saul's mouth before he takes another long drag. Jesse can't stop staring at the way Saul's lips wrap around the smoke rings he puffs out.

Short of dumping a bucket of ice water into his lap, the best Jesse can do is hop up from the bed and guide Saul's attention to the shelf of DVDs on the other side of the room. "So, uh, you wanna pick a movie?"

Saul gets up, the joint wafting smoke between his fingers, and scans the titles. "What do you wanna watch?"

Jesse shrugs. "We could just, like, talk about stuff. I mean, you probably got some awesome stories about shit you did back in the day. It took me this long to find out you smoked weed. What other secrets you got?"

Saul laughs like he's privy to a joke only he knows. "Plenty."

"You should tell me," Jesse says, casually making his way back to the bed and sitting on the mattress with his feet tucked underneath him.

"Ah, but then they wouldn't be secrets anymore."

Jesse tilts his head. "You don't trust me?"

Saul takes another puff and moves closer. "I don't trust you not to laugh."

"I'll tell you some of my embarrassing secrets if that'll make us even."

"I'm not high enough for this, kid. Give it time."

They settle onto the bed to watch the movie; Jesse barely pays any attention and probably couldn't tell you what movie it was, because he's stoned as balls and his focus is on Saul's incredibly close proximity. He can smell the faint hint of cologne over the aroma of weed permeating the air. Saul starts out sitting at the head of the bed, but over time he sort of melts into a reclining position, then they're pressed together at the shoulders and neither of them say anything about it.

Jesse needs some air or he's going to go stir-crazy. He pushes himself up, swings his legs over the side of the bed. "I'm gonna get a soda. You want anything?"

"Surprise me."

Jesse feels Saul's eyes on him as he leaves the bedroom. Once he gets into the kitchen he can think a little more clearly. It's not like there's anything wrong with what he's doing. He's just smoking pot with a friend. Whatever. He used to do that all the time. How is this any different from hanging out with Badger?

Because Jesse doesn't want Badger's dick in his mouth, for starters.

Jesse thinks he deserves an award for the amount of times he's stopped himself from reaching over and jerking Saul off. The thought's been in his head since Saul's been lying next to him, and it's goddamn distracting.

Nothing's going to happen. Sure, Jesse's in deep, but Saul probably has no attraction whatsoever to Jesse. Saul will stop any stupid ideas Jesse decides to bring to fruition. And Jesse's high enough that rejection won't make him want to hide away in a hole for the rest of his life. So there's a silver lining, he thinks.

Jesse grabs two soda cans and makes his way up the stairs. He walks through the open doorway and sees Saul examining something on the night table. Upon closer inspection, Jesse realizes Saul's looking at one of his photos with Walt.

Oh boy.

Saul sees that Jesse sees him looking at the photograph and sets the frame back where it belongs. "How sure are we your husband isn't gonna swing by and find us sitting in a pot cloud on your, uh, marital bed?"

Jesse feels his face go hot. He hands Saul one of the soda cans. "He's with his, uh, other family. His ex and kid. I told him to go. I just wanted to... not be around him for a while." Jesse realizes how awful that sounds, but he doesn't much care. He takes his seat opposite Saul—the spot's still warm—and snaps open his drink. He takes a long gulp before he says, "So is your girlfriend gonna be pissed if you come home smellin' like weed?"

Saul huffs a laugh. "I live alone."

"Oh." Jesse wonders about the word choice there, how Saul said "alone" and not "by myself" or "on my own." Then he wonders if he's at that level of being stoned where everything has some deep, existential meaning. Probably the latter. "That must be cool, huh?"

"It has its perks," Saul says, taking a sip.

"I bet."

They settle in and go back to watching the movie, though Jesse's still a bit distracted having Saul so close. He chooses to focus on Saul's off-handed comments about the laughable acting, bad computer effects, and terrible writing. Not the best decision, because Saul's sense of humor just makes Jesse's crush grow ten times stronger, like a B-movie monster that won't die.

"I forgot how awful this movie was," Saul says once it's over. "It was a multi-million dollar disappointment eleven years ago and still holds true today."

"The song in the end credits is pretty dope though."

"Why do good songs happen to bad movies?"

"'Cause they need somethin' cool to play over the trailer."

Saul nods in consideration. "Probably." He breathes out a deep sigh and sinks into the pillows. "I haven't been this relaxed in years. Almost forgot what it felt like."

"Yeah..." Jesse almost forgot what it's like to have a conversation that isn't laced with tension, like a bomb rigged to blow. It's different with his friends, because their idea of fun involves hard drugs that Jesse can't partake in anymore. So it's difficult to connect with them because they're almost always in a chemically-altered state.

But Saul's proven he's capable of holding a conversation without drugs. The weed is just a bonus, really. And with Saul, there's no expectations. He's not hanging out with Jesse because of the pot or some sort of sexual contract between them. He simply enjoys Jesse's company. Jesse can't even remember the last time someone chilled with him "just because."

"So I guess you wanna head out, huh?" Jesse asks.

Saul scoffs. "Maybe when the buzz wears off, kid. I need a DUI like I need a hole in the head."

"Oh." Jesse's a little slow on the uptake today. "Do you, uh, you wanna eat somethin'?"

Saul turns his head to look at him. "You don't have people over very often, do you?"

Jesse blushes, halfway between embarrassed and annoyed that Saul guessed right. "Not really. Mr. White's friends don't like me, so they don't come over. And Mr. White won't let me bring my friends here 'cause he says they're 'worthless junkies.'"

"He said the same thing about you, didn't he?"

Jesse nods like it doesn't mean anything. He risks a glance at Saul, who's still watching him with a curious sort of intensity Jesse thinks he might melt under. Saul's tie has gone rogue, drooping over his side and looking dishevelled as all hell. Jesse takes the wide end of Saul's tie between his fingers, rubs his thumb over the silk. Saul doesn't protest, just lets Jesse's hand slide up the length of the tie and tug him close until he presses his mouth over Saul's.

Saul makes a noise—surprised? confused?—under the kiss, but he doesn't push Jesse away. Saul's mouth is warm and unexpectedly soft, opening around Jesse's own in a way that turns his apprehensions about this upside down, because  _Saul's kissing him back_. Jesse shakes out a moan and risks a hand along the curve of Saul's neck. Saul doesn't fight him, lets Jesse have this quiet moment of tenderness. Jesse can feel every soft exhale of breath against his cheek. He clutches at the collar of Saul's shirt when the wet slide of tongue licks at his lower lip.

Neither one of them stop trading languid, lazy kisses back and forth. Jesse feels like his life's turned into  _The Graduate,_  where, yes, Mr. Pinkman—or is it Mr. White?—is  _definitely_  trying to seduce Saul. They've been pushing at each other's fraying edges for a while now, and this just seems like the culmination of everything Jesse's been trying to avoid. But, God, he doesn't want to stop.

Saul licks his way into Jesse's yielding mouth, lays a hand over the curve of Jesse's hip. The gentle heat of his thumb teases at the edge of Jesse's sweatpants, and Jesse kisses him with fierceness, encouragement for Saul to do whatever the hell he wants. He nibbles at Saul's mouth, and Saul's hand falls away, fingertips brushing over Jesse's persistent erection. Jesse gasps and nudges his hips forward. He can't help but want that, a warm, steady hand wrapped around his dick. When was the last time Walt cared about Jesse's experience?

Saul trails a finger along the length of Jesse's cock, teasing him through two layers of clothing. Jesse whimpers around Saul's mouth and tries his hardest not to push into that, because he doesn't want to come across as too needy. Saul needs to know that  _he_  matters, that Jesse wouldn't want this from anyone else. So he tilts his head and presses another kiss to Saul's eager mouth.

Saul curls a hand around him, catching Jesse's balls and the base of his dick in his palm, and squeezes with the slightest pressure. Jesse opens his mouth around a helpless noise. Saul's touch nearly burns through his clothes to his skin. Jesse grinds his hips into it, groans through his teeth at the friction. Saul's hand starts its careful stroke, palm rubbing slow against Jesse's balls. Jesse shudders out a breath. This is the hottest thing that's ever happened in this bed in years. Guilt rises in his stomach like bile, but the slow rub of Saul's hand extinguishes it all, twists him up so tight with arousal he doesn't much care.

"Saul..." he gasps, fingers curling in the front of Saul's shirt. He's tempted to throw a leg over Saul's hips and bring him closer, but that might be too much right now. So he stays impossibly still, lets Saul stroke and press until Jesse's gone tight and shaking from the orgasm building at the base of his spine. "I'm—" Jesse chokes out around a kiss. Saul claims his mouth, smothers the helpless noise that bubbles out when Jesse lets himself go. Jesse comes in a long stretch of pleasure and pain that's too much at once. He bites at Saul's bottom lip, shoves his hips into the way Saul's rubbing him through his climax. Jesse shivers, gasps out pathetic little sounds that Saul swallows and kisses out of him. His hand's still working between Jesse's legs, and it doesn't stop until Jesse's shaking ceases and his hips have gone still.

Jesse sinks further into the mattress, spent and satisfied. That's the best orgasm he's had in ages. "That was awesome," Jesse slurs out, sounding drunk. He shifts his legs and feels the tacky slide between his thighs. Yeah, he should probably change his underwear.

Jesse pushes himself into a sit and moves to get up. A tug at his t-shirt makes him freeze. "Why stop there?" Saul asks, in a way that's both innocent and laden with innuendo. He slithers closer, close enough to grab the hem of Jesse's t-shirt and pull it over his head. Saul makes a sort of stunned inhale when he gets a good look at Jesse's body. Jesse's instinct is to cover up, but Saul's gazing at him with an awed reverence that Jesse's never seen before. Walt looks at him like he's something to defile; Saul looks at him like he's something to worship.

Saul tugs Jesse closer and presses a kiss over his mouth. Jesse goes with it, melts into the press of Saul's hands along his waist. Saul kisses the line of Jesse's jaw and tweaks a nipple with his thumb. Jesse hums appreciation, and Saul licks at the hollow of his throat before pushing Jesse's back against the mattress. Then his mouth's hot and wet around Jesse's nipple, the sharp edge of teeth gentle against the sensitive nub. A breath shakes out of Jesse's lungs. Saul's lips follow the curve of the tattoo on Jesse's chest, once, twice, before dipping down to his nipple again. Jesse arches his spine as if Saul could swallow him whole.

Saul mouths kisses over Jesse's chest, his stomach, swirls his tongue around and inside Jesse's navel, careful not to leave evidence of their lust on his skin. Jesse's fairly sure he'll come again if Saul keeps this up. His entire body feels too sensitive, like a nerve that's been rubbed raw. He wants Saul's mouth everywhere at once, and there's no excuse for that, Jesse knows, but that doesn't stop him from wanting it.

His legs fall open, suggestive and inviting, and Saul glances up at Jesse, eyes gone dark like he's read Jesse's mind. Saul hooks his fingers in the edge of Jesse's pants and tugs them over his hips, discards the whole lot over the edge of the bed. His mouth is slow and gentle against the delicate skin of Jesse's inner thighs, like he wants to suck kisses there but knows it would leave proof of betrayal. Jesse quivers, tangles a shaky hand in Saul's hair and tugs, guiding him where he needs his mouth the most.

Saul doesn't resist, just opens his mouth around Jesse's dick and takes him in. This is so reckless and stupid and  _wrong_ , Jesse reminds himself as his hips push into the slow, dragging slide of Saul's mouth. He groans, loud and needy against the air, digs his other hand into the sheets beneath him. Saul's no novice—he's got Jesse buried to the hilt in his throat—and it's so much better than Walt's half-assed blowjobs. Jesse's fingers curl in Saul's hair, nails dragging over his scalp, and he wants to watch this happen, because there's a man who isn't his husband currently sucking his dick, and damn if that doesn't turn him on a little bit.

"God," Jesse shakes out, "you're—your fuckin' mouth... Jesus..." He's teetering on the edge, so close to his breaking point, then Saul hums around him, a quiet sound of appreciation, and Jesse's gone, all the way gone, Saul's name leaving his mouth like a prayer. Saul swallows around him like he enjoys it, and, shit, maybe he does. That's hotter than it should be. Saul licks him clean, mouth lingering at the head of Jesse's cock for a moment or two before Jesse slips free.

"Shit," Jesse whimpers, his body still shaking. He slings an arm over his eyes. "Have you done that before?"

"Yeah, the eighties were pretty wild," Saul says with a chuckle.

Jesse  _loves_  that answer. He sits up and drags the blankets over his crotch, suddenly shy. "For real? That's awesome." Saul's so chill about being with dudes. It's unreal. "I can count on one hand the times Mr. White's done that for me, and he's always real shitty about it."

Saul sits on the edge of the bed. "You sure landed a winner."

Jesse laughs, half-amused and half-distraught, because at the end of the day he's still married to that asshole, and he just got the best blowjob of his life from a guy who isn't his husband. He drops his gaze to the way his hands grip the blankets, refusing to look at Saul, like he doesn't even deserve to. A slow trickle of tears crawls down his cheeks. His chest shakes with a sob. "I don't know how I could be so stupid," he cries.

"Hey, c'mon, it's okay." Saul moves closer, wraps his arms around Jesse's shaking shoulders. "You're not stupid, Jesse."

"I'm such a piece of shit," Jesse sobs, ignoring Saul's words. He wipes his eyes, smearing salty tears over his face. "How could I—Mr. White—He loves me..."

"If he loved you, I don't think you would've sought out a divorce. You're not a bad person for wanting to be loved."

Jesse sniffles and shakes his head. His lungs hitch from the force of a sob. "I'm a bad person for cheating," he says instead, because he knows Saul can't answer that, not in a way that isn't swollen with agenda.

Saul breathes out a heavy sigh. Jesse risks a glance at him through blurry eyes. He looks as agonized as Jesse feels. "I'm sorry it happened this way," Saul says after a moment, his voice tinged with regret. "I wish I could have waited, made it something you'd remember fondly instead of... whatever this is." He draws a hand through the hair along the back of Jesse's head.

Jesse slumps in Saul's arms, weak, hiccuping sobs choking from his throat. He wants to be stronger than this, wants to hurt Walt and feel nothing the same way Walt hurts Jesse and loses no sleep over it. But he's not that kind of man. Jesse feels cracked straight down the middle, like he'll never be put back together again.

He swallows thickly and hears his stomach gurgle. Saul hears it too, because he breathes a soft laugh at the shell of Jesse's ear. "You should eat something. Might make you feel a bit better."

Jesse nods and pulls away, wiping his runny eyes. "You wanna stay for dinner?"

"If you'll have me."


	6. Chapter 6

_October 2007_

_Jesse finds the invitation at breakfast as he's sorting through the mail on the kitchen table. He furrows his brow like he's thinking hard, probably noticing Walt's old address written on the front of the envelope. "What's this?" Like he can't fucking read, just wants Walt to explain it to him._

_"My former business partner Elliott is having a birthday," Walt says as casually as he can. He doesn't know why Skyler bothered delivering this to him personally. Just another reminder of how the weight of his stupid decisions ripples out. "He extended an invitation to me."_

_Jesse makes a thoughtful face. "You goin'?"_

_Walt shrugs, shakes his head. "I'd rather not."_

_"How come?" Jesse whines. "I thought you said you wanted to, like, mend fences or whatever with him. Here's your chance."_

_Walt sighs, because he_ did _say that, but not at the expense of dragging Jesse along to a party sure to be populated by upper-class, stuffy college professors and disgustingly-rich successes who'll look down on both of them._

_Jesse opens up the invitation and reads the inside. "You don't even have to bring a gift! And it says you can bring a plus-one if you want."_

_Walt frowns at his eggs and toast. "It's been a long time since Elliott and Gretchen and I have seen each other."_

_"Well, they invited you, so they must still think you're cool, right? Or is this some sort of weird mind game?"_

_Walt doesn't think it's a mind game at heart, but there will be plenty of judgemental looks cast in his direction when he shows up, he's sure of it. With Jesse in tow... None of this is a good idea, but Jesse's so earnest and desperate to be a good husband that he's pushing Walt to reconnect here._

_Through their time at J.P. Wynne and the years of their marriage, Walt's discovered that Jesse's a hands-on sort of learner—that is, he's bull-headed and doesn't listen when Walt tells him something won't work. He has to experiment and find out for himself, often in disastrous end. This seems like one of those moments: Walt can warn Jesse all he wants about how these people will only judge him, but Jesse won't learn his lesson unless he actually experiences it._

_It's not like Walt's opposed to the tough love method, but he really wishes he didn't have to come along for the ride and take the knocks as well._

_Walt sighs and fixes Jesse with a sincere look, though there's a bit of an edge to it. "If I bring you, you must be on your best behavior."_

_Jesse rolls his eyes in a way Walt assures him is most unattractive._

_"You will dress and speak properly," Walt continues. "Absolutely no 'street talk.'"_

_"The fuck is this,_ My Fair Lady _?" Jesse says around a huff of breath._

_"These people are wealthy, successful, and educated." Everything Jesse's not. "I don't want you to give them an opportunity to judge you unfairly."_

_"How is it fair if I'm pretendin' to be somebody I'm not?"_

_"Because they won't understand what we have together. All they'll see is that I married someone the opposite of everything they are, and they'll resent you. I don't want you to feel miserable, Jesse."_

_Jesse shrugs. "Whatever. I'm used to your people not likin' me."_

_Walt's got enough sense to feel guilty about that._

_The soiree hosted at the Schwartz residence is a low-key, understated thing. Walt and Jesse join the sea of beige and promptly stick out in their dark tuxes, like penguins waddling across the ice-capped arctic. Elliott and Gretchen promptly find them and greet Walt with big, warm smiles. Walt smiles back and waits for the inevitable shitshow._

_"Walt, you made it!" Elliott says. "It's so good to see you."_

_"You too."_

_Gretchen greets him with a hug. "Where's Skyler?"_

_Oh boy, here it comes. Walt swallows, says, "Skyler and I have, uh, separated."_

_"I'm so sorry."_

_Walt wants to say, "I'm not," but fears that would sound unbecoming. Instead, he nods and says, "I've remarried since." He takes Jesse's hand in his own. "This is my husband, Jesse."_

_Walt practically wilts under the intense amount of judgement radiating from Elliott and Gretchen. Which, he can't exactly blame them, but they could at least be more tactful about their shock. They recover pretty quickly, though, extending hands and cordial greetings to Jesse, but Walt senses a Gestalt shift in them, that they'll never look at him the same way. Jesse's polite, prim and proper, but he's still half Walt's age and a man. That's a pretty huge handicap._

_"Jesse, it's nice to meet you," Gretchen says in that fake, saccharine voice. "How did you and Walt meet?"_

_Fuck, why didn't they rehearse this in the car? Walt was so consumed with Jesse's appearance and speech that he forgot the crux of their relationship is pretty damning. But Walt's not going to construct some elaborate fiction on the fly. He wants Jesse to see these people for who they are._

_"Jesse was a student of mine," Walt says, and, because he can't help but lie a little, "one of my favorites. I saw such potential in him. We reconnected years later and things developed from there." He doesn't fail to notice the small smile on Jesse's lips at that "favorite" bit._

_Gretchen and Elliott don't look impressed, but Walt didn't expect them to be. "How long have you two been married?" Elliott asks._

_"Like, three years," Jesse says, exuding way too much damn positivity for the occasion._

_Elliott and Gretchen put on their best "we're happy for you" faces. "Well, congratulations. Best of luck to you both." They don't say, "you're gonna need it," but Walt hears it anyway._

_Walt shadows Jesse for most of the evening, chaperoning his conversations with the other guests and occasionally interjecting when Jesse starts down a path that promises nothing good. All of Walt's old colleagues share a combination of reactions to his new marriage: shock, bewilderment, and thinly-veiled disgust. Which, again, Walt can't blame them for, but they could at least pretend to be happy for him then talk shit when he walks away, like normal people._

_"Yo, you don't need to supervise me," Jesse says once they're finally alone, away from the other partygoers. "Go talk to them. Shoot the shit, or whatever you guys do. I won't embarrass myself."_

_Walt glances off at where Gretchen and Elliott are gathered around the snack table._

_"It's not like these people approve of me anyway," Jesse grumbles under his breath, but Walt's ears are finely tuned to Jesse's displeasure._

_Walt thinks he should feel bad about that, but it's not like he didn't warn Jesse. This entire party will be a waste of Jesse's fragile self-esteem if Walt doesn't attempt to rebuild bridges here. So he agrees and joins Elliott and Gretchen on the other side of the yard._

_Gretchen smiles when she sees him. "Walt, are you enjoying yourself?"_

_"Oh, yes, you always knew how to throw a party."_

_Gretchen laughs an airy sound. "We have so much to catch up on, don't we? Come, let's chat." She leads Walt across the green. Walt casts a brief glance at Elliott, who doesn't seem bothered in the least that Gretchen wants to speak with Walt privately. He must assume Walt's new marriage means he's in no danger of having his wife stolen._

_They walk inside the wood-paneled library. Framed magazines and reminders of Elliott's achievements hit Walt like a sledgehammer to the solar plexus. He wonders why she brought him here, if her words and this setting will serve to slice through the remaining gristle of his pride._

_"I'm so shocked to hear about Skyler," Gretchen begins. "You two seemed so happy together."_

_Walt shrugs. "Things happen. People change."_

_"But so much?" She gives him a skeptical look. "Walt, what's really going on here? Are you having some sort of mid-life crisis?"_

_Walt sighs. "I admit it's a drastic"—he searches for the word—"shift from what you know of me, but my marriage to Jesse is just that—a marriage. If he were a woman instead of a man, would you be so surprised?" He knows she wouldn't be, but because Jesse's a guy, everyone assumes Walt must have knocked a screw loose somewhere or never been right to begin with._

_"He's just so... young. And, yes, I'm surprised that you married another man. Why wouldn't I be? I thought I knew you intimately well," Gretchen says._

_"I thought I did too," Walt admits. "I would have never imagined things would end up this way, but they did."_

_"But a_ student _, Walt?"_

_Walt makes a face. "It wasn't like that, Gretchen. God, how could you—"_

_"I don't actually think you would—" She stops, shakes her head. "What people must think..."_

_"It is slightly unorthodox. And, if I'm honest, this isn't the life I would have chosen for myself. But Jesse needed my help. I wanted him to make something of himself. I admire the progress he's made, but I do wish he would try a little harder."_

_"You did love a project," Gretchen says. Then, after a moment: "Do you love_ him _?"_

_Walt isn't sure why he has to answer that question, justify what he and Jesse have together. "Of course. Why would I marry someone I don't love?"_

_"It happens," she says, like she's familiar with the concept. "He could have convinced you to—"_

_Walt's already shaking his head. "No, no, marrying Jesse was my idea. This was something I wanted."_ Needed _, really. Skyler had too much control, too assured of herself. But Jesse is doubtful and pliable, something Walt can mold the way he likes. Doesn't hurt that Jesse loves being pushed onto the mattress and fucked, either._

_Jesse stays relatively quiet on the drive home, like a child bracing for the blow of a parent's scolding. But Walt's not going to scold him; clearly, Jesse's learned his lesson. Walt does, however, offer up a, "I had a feeling this would happen," because he wants to remind Jesse he totally fucking called this._

_Jesse nods absent-mindedly. "It was for a good cause though, right?"_

_Walt isn't sure. "They seem to regard our marriage with a sort of... curious disapproval."_

_Jesse looks wounded. "They're not, like, pissed at you, are they?"_

_"I don't think that's the right word."_

_Jesse pouts and stares straight ahead, toys with his hands in his lap. "I just wanted you to make friends again."_

_"Sometimes certain people are only meant to be part of our lives for a little while," Walt says, trying to be uplifting. He's not very good at the whole "cheering people up" thing, but he'll try for Jesse's sake._

_Jesse's mouth scrunches like he wants to argue with that. "Yeah, I guess."_

_"It was a good effort, though, Jesse. I appreciate it."_

_There's a brief tug of a smile at the corner of Jesse's lips, but Walt thinks it's enough._

* * *

 

After Jesse puts on clean clothes and comes downstairs, Saul's waiting for him in the kitchen, sitting at the island and looking like he regrets the day Jesse ever walked into his life. Jesse's managed to cease the sobs racking his chest—he can't even begin to stop the flow of tears; he'll just blame the onions he's chopping for the wetness on his cheeks. But he knows this façade will crumble into dust if he has to talk. So he says nothing.

Neither does Saul.

They exist in the same space in a crushing silence, save for the occasional kitchen noise that breaks the air around them. Jesse cooks their dinner on the stove, and tries to quell the way his hands shake.

This is nothing compared to some of the fights he's had with Walt where he's had to choke down his anger and go on as if nothing's wrong. Where the tension in the room seemed palpable, thick enough to drown in. There's no anger here, but now, more than ever, Jesse wishes he knew the thoughts in Saul's head.

Every now and then he glances over his shoulder to make sure Saul's still there, that he hasn't abandoned Jesse in this fragile time of need. After the third time, Saul finally speaks. "Somethin' on your mind? You keep looking at me like you wanna say something."

Jesse swallows, wills his voice not to betray him. "Just making sure you didn't leave."

"I'm here as long as you want me, kid."

"You look like you wish you were somewhere else." Jesse says. He doesn't mean to sound so gutted, but this conversation is taking away pieces of him he doesn't think he'll get back. He turns his attention back to the stovetop before something catches on fire.

"I wanna be here," Saul says, and it doesn't sound like a lie. "I just—I never thought I'd be 'the other woman.'" There's a beat, then: "Did you know my second wife cheated on me?"

Jesse doesn't know what else to say but, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's a two-way street."

"You didn't do anything wrong," Jesse says, trying to be helpful.

"Pretty sure sleeping with a client is, to put it lightly, frowned upon."

So Saul's never done this before. Jesse isn't sure how to feel about that, about being Saul's first big indiscretion, the tipping point into temptation. He likes feeling special and wanted, but hates that it comes at such a high cost.

"I'm sorry," Jesse says again. He can't find better, more appropriate words, doesn't know if they exist.

"Don't apologize. Unless—unless you regret it?" There's an edge of panic in Saul's voice that wasn't there before.

"I don't regret it." Jesse goes quiet after that and focuses on cooking.

"You want any help?" Saul asks.

"Nah, I got it. I'd rather cook by myself. Easier to concentrate."

"Just let me know if you need a hand." Then, as if reconsidering: "In a totally, non-sexual way, of course."

Jesse chuckles, and the sound surprises him. He thought he was beyond humor here. "Sure."

They don't make much small talk while Jesse's preparing the food. Saul seems to sense how fragile and fragmented Jesse is right now, so he doesn't risk hurting him with more words. But the silence hurts too, because Jesse's left to think about the consequences to come.

"We can't ignore this," Jesse says, setting two loaded plates in front of them as he sits across from Saul. "I have to tell you something."

Saul's mouth does a frowny thing. He glances down at the food like it's a long lost lover. "Are you sure? If it's just gonna hurt you more..."

Jesse shakes his head. "It wouldn't be fair to you if I didn't." Saul watches him with a curious look, his brow creased in a way that makes Jesse want to reach across the table and smooth it out. There's still a mellow haze lingering at the edges of his brain, so Jesse opts to just lay it all out there and get this over with. "This wasn't just a fling for me. Maybe it was for you, and maybe we're both being stupid, but as long as we're being stupid... I should be with you. I wanna be with you."

Saul's eyebrows twitch upwards as his eyes go wide. Jesse looks away before he can see pity or guilt or sadness there.

"So, yeah, for me, this wasn't a mistake," Jesse admits, his voice shaking. "I didn't do it 'cause I was high or 'cause I wanted to get laid. It was 'cause I like you."

Saul swallows, blinks, and for a moment Jesse fears he's said too much. "Kid, you're not the first person to sleep with the divorce lawyer," he says around a weak chuckle. "Whatever you're feeling... It's temporary."

Jesse squeezes his eyes shut, Saul's words like a band-aid ripping from his skin. "Maybe. Maybe not. Why can't we just, y'know, like, see what happens?"

There's a twitch of a smile at the corner of Saul's mouth. "Spoken like a true wordsmith."

"Shut up," Jesse says, but there's no heat to it.

After a silent moment of contemplation, Saul asks, "He'll never find out?"

Jesse shakes his head, fills his mouth with a forkful of delicious noodles when he doesn't know what to say. "You never told me why you did it," he says after he swallows. He's not sure he wants to know, since Saul tiptoed around the answer, but he's high enough to take the risk.

Saul's watching the steam rise from his plate. "Maybe I wanna be with you too, kid."

"For real?"

"Maybe," Saul says with a quirk of a smile, and, God, he is so easy to read sometimes.

* * *

 

The next morning, Jesse wakes from a heavy, black sleep alone in his bed. He remembers asking Saul to stay with him, just until he fell asleep, and for all he knows Saul did. He rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, thinks about the bridges burned between these sheets. Guilt burdens his conscience, but he doesn't  _regret_  what happened last night. Saul's hands and mouth are far more gentle than Walt's ever been with him. Every touch made Jesse's head swim and his heart pound dizzily in his chest.

He reaches for the night table to grab his phone. When he switches on the screen, he finds a message typed into the text box in his conversation to Saul, but he knows he didn't write it.

_**Hey kid, wish I could'a stayed longer, but you know how it goes. Wouldn't mind doing that again sometime. You make the cutest noises when you cum ;)** _

Jesse grins and feels his entire body blush.

He spends the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen making sweet potatoes, cornbread stuffing, and pecan pie, just so it doesn't look like he sat around doing nothing for two days. He cooks up some barbecue chicken in the oven, because turkey for Thanksgiving is cliché as hell, yo. But there's peach preserves in the mixture, and that's seasonal, right? Whatever. Walt can suck it if he doesn't appreciate Jesse's arduous cooking adventure.

Walt comes through the door around seven p.m., just as Jesse's finished preparing all the dishes. Jesse's tense, ready for the worst, but Walt doesn't raise his voice or shove Jesse into anything. "Something smells good," he says, moving into the kitchen.

Jesse busies himself with wiping the kitchen counter. "Yeah, thought you might want two Thanksgiving dinners, y'know?"

He jumps when Walt winds his arms around Jesse's waist. He feels the scrape of moustache against the back of his neck. "Good idea," Walt rumbles low at his ear.

Jesse shivers though he isn't cold. He thinks he can smell alcohol wafting from Walt's breath, but he's not certain. "Did Hank bring his, uh, home brews?"

"A couple," Walt agrees. His hands push underneath Jesse's t-shirt. This all feels like it's going somewhere, and Jesse doesn't know how to handle it. Not after his affair with Saul leaves an ache in his chest.

"So how was it?" Jesse asks, forcing himself to keep his voice steady. "You have a good time?"

Walt murmurs an affirmative sound. "I missed you." He skims his hands over the curve of Jesse's stomach.

"Oh yeah?" A fresh bevy of tears escapes Jesse's eyes without permission.

"Mhmm." Walt nuzzles at the back of Jesse's neck; Jesse hates that he doesn't know how to feel about that. "You know, Walt Junior's very fond of you. He's not taking too well to our divorce."

Jesse feels his heart in his windpipe.

"First his parents split up, then he finds he actually gets along with his father's new spouse, only to learn that marriage won't last either."

On any other day, Jesse would have whirled around and shouted, "Don't you dare try to use your son to make me feel guilty, you manipulative bastard!" But all he can do is struggle against the lump in his throat and the tears in his eyes.

"It's not too late," Walt reminds him in a quiet murmur. There's a hint of pleading to it that cleaves through Jesse's heart.

Jesse squeezes his eyes shut, lets the wetness stream over his cheeks. "Yeah, it is, Mr. White." He disentangles from the embrace, trying a little too hard to sound like he's not falling apart. "So, uh, everything's in the fridge if you're hungry. I'mma get a shower real quick, then I'll grab a bite." Jesse flees up the stairs and shuts himself in the bathroom. He can't stop the shortness of breath in his jittery lungs or the way tears leak from his eyes. He scrubs a hand through his hair and wants to climb out of his skin.

It takes him a minute or two to calm himself down. That's when the bathroom door clicks open, and Walt walks in. "Yo, occupied," Jesse says, still braced against the cabinets.

"Yes, you look very busy," Walt says, injecting as much sarcasm as he can into the words.

Jesse breathes out, "Dick," under his breath. Walt moves over to him and takes Jesse's face in his hands. Jesse goes still, but before he can panic Walt's kissing him, his mouth fierce and hot over Jesse's own. "What the fuck is your deal?" Jesse mumbles around the kisses, hands caught in the front of Walt's shirt. He doesn't know whether to push or pull.

"Absence makes the heart grow fonder," Walt says, but Jesse's suspicious, because Walt only kisses like this when he wants something.

"Yeah, whatever." He lets Walt drag his t-shirt over his head and kiss his throat. It doesn't feel the same as when Saul did it; Jesse loathes himself for the comparison, for thinking of someone else when Walt's touching him like this.

Walt bends Jesse over the cabinets, mouthing kisses along the back of his neck and the tattoo between his shoulder blades. He shoves Jesse's sweatpants over his hips, and Jesse hears the clink of a belt, the scrunch of fabric, the snap of plastic. Walt wraps his wide hands around Jesse's hips, then he's pressing in, hard and hot inside of Jesse. Jesse can't help but moan and tilt his hips into it. Walt's all the way in, too deep, his fingers digging into Jesse's hips. Jesse makes ragged, stunned noises of bliss each time Walt shoves in, because it's too fucking much, and Walt's breathing out these rough, harsh sounds in his throat. A warm hand wraps around his cock, stroking and squeezing in a grip that's almost too tight.

"Shit," Jesse grunts out, shoving his hips back as Walt pushes in. Walt curves over him, panting hot over the back of his neck and gasping, "Jesse, Jesse." Walt's other hand finds a nipple and squeezes. Jesse moans a broken noise that's subsumed in a sob. Walt doesn't hear the pain in Jesse's heaving cries, just keeps touching Jesse and jerking him off and fucking into him quick and dirty, and it shouldn't make Jesse dizzy and hot, but it  _does_. Jesse drops his cheek against the cold tile and lets Walt take what he needs. Walt's fist strokes him hard and fast, fingers dragging over his chest and teasing his nipples. It's all too much until it isn't, then Jesse's groaning and shaking and sobbing and spilling into Walt's hand.

He slumps against the cabinet, and Walt gives a few more weak thrusts before he too falls over the edge. It's wet and hot and messy, and Jesse loves it. Walt breathes over the back of Jesse's neck for a moment, his hips rocking as the aftershocks drain out of him. Jesse tries to catch his breath. "Jesus, Mr. White..." He feels the sticky slide as Walt slips out of him. "That was dope."

Walt chuckles, his hands warm around Jesse's hips again. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"Why'd you do it?" Jesse asks, turning his head to catch a glimpse of Walt's expression.

"I told you. I missed you," Walt says as he's zipping his pants up and buckling his belt.

Jesse's got no idea what to say to that. "You weren't even gone two whole days, dude."

Walt tugs Jesse closer once he's dressed, turns him around to kiss his mouth. Jesse doesn't complain when Walt pins him against the counter, hands blocking him in, just lets Walt claim his mouth with deep kisses. "I'm sorry, I didn't know a certain amount of time needed to pass before I could properly miss you."

"Smart-ass," Jesse grumbles through Walt's kisses. "Now go downstairs and eat. I didn't spend the last two days makin' all this food for nothin'." His voice shakes around the lie, but Walt doesn't seem to pick up on it, or if he does he's attributing it to the orgasm Jesse had about thirty seconds ago.

Walt moves for the door. "I'll be waiting," he says, and, Jesus, that sound ominous.

Walt shuts the bathroom door behind him, leaving Jesse with his heart thumping and wondering what the actual fuck just happened here.

* * *

 

Saul doesn't see Jesse again for about a week, which he tries not to be too paranoid about. As far as he can tell, the kid didn't seem embarrassed or ashamed about what happened—even suggested they continue it—so Saul reminds himself that Jesse's not purposely avoiding him. Odds are Walt's giving him a hard time and Jesse hasn't found an opportunity to sneak away for a quickie with the divorce lawyer. Truth be told, Jesse ought to bide his time; getting caught might mean bruises or broken bones. Best not to push for too much at once.

Francesca buzzes Jesse into Saul's office during his lunch break—which he specifically requested she do. Jesse steps inside, looking that flavor of curious and apprehensive like he usually does. Saul gives him a smile to show it's safe, that no one's going to hurt him. "Hey, kid. How's it hangin'?"

"Good, I think." Jesse's gaze snags on Mike, who's sitting in the chair across from Saul's desk. He flashes Saul a worried look.

"Well, that's great. Hey, I want you to meet a friend of mine. Mike, this is Jesse. Jesse, Mike."

Jesse lifts his hand in a nervous wave. "Yo."

"Go on, take a seat." Saul gestures to the empty chair beside Mike. "He won't bite."

Jesse does as he's asked, though he's a touch hesitant about it, like he actually thinks Mike will bite him if he does something wrong. Which is both hilarious and kind of sad.

Mike gives Jesse one of his patented "harmless grandpa" smiles. "Jesse White, I presume?"

Jesse nods, slow and unsure.

"I had the pleasure of meeting your husband," Mike says, sarcasm dripping from the word.

"For real? When?"

"I served him the papers."

Jesse's eyes go wide like he's realized something. "You're the guy?"

Mike nods.

"Cool."

"You're probably already aware, but your husband's a real piece of work," Mike says. "I'll be glad when you're officially split."

Jesse's thumb toys with his bottom lip in a way that's ridiculously distracting. "Me too."

Mike pushes on the arms of the chair and stands up. "Well, I'd best get goin'. Got a whole day planned out with the granddaughter."

"You have a granddaughter?" Jesse asks, and Saul has no idea why he sounds so surprised about that.

Mike chuckles. "Don't try to flatter me and say 'you don't look that old.' It won't work."

"N—no, I was just—What's her name?"

"Kaylee."

"How old is she?"

"Ten." Mike digs into his pocket and takes out his wallet. He flips it open and shows Jesse the picture inside.

Jesse smiles. "Cute."

"Yeah, Mike's like a Cadbury egg: a hard shell, but soft and sweet on the inside," Saul says.

Mike snaps his wallet shut and glares at Saul. Saul just laughs, because Mike's not going to threaten him with violence while Jesse's in the room, so he can totally get away with that.

"See ya tomorrow," Mike says as he leaves through the door.

Jesse turns his attention to Saul. "He was pretty cool to me." He rubs his wrists, probably uncomfortable without one of his oversized hoodies to hide his arms. But Saul appreciates the view, the way his tattoo winds around his forearm. He remembers kissing that tattoo and feels a thrill.

"Mr. White's friends don't like me," Jesse explains. "They think I'm just some dumb junkie loser who should be grateful and not take advantage of Mr. White's kindness... They don't get why we're together."

Saul can't understand why he's the only nice person in Jesse's life. But he's honored for the privilege. "To be honest, I don't either. I mean, you could do so much better than him."

Jesse laughs under his breath, his cheeks flushed pink. Saul loves that he can make Jesse blush so easily.

"You any good with kids?" Saul asks.

"Yeah, kids are cool. I always wanted a couple of my own, but Mr. White says he's done raisin' kids."

"Hey, it's never too late. At least that's what I keep telling myself."

Jesse blinks, startled. "You want kids? But you're a divorce lawyer."

Saul gives him flat eyes. "Excuse you."

"I dunno, I guess I never imagined divorce attorneys, like, havin' families, considerin' you guys, y'know, break up families."

Saul's going to pretend he's not offended by that. "We don't go door-to-door handin' out pamphlets, kid. People come to us, alright?"

"Yeah, okay, no pamphlets, but you got billboards and bus station signs galore," Jesse says with a hint of a smirk that Saul wants to kiss away.

Saul huffs. "What's the old saying? Something about leading a horse to water?"

"How come you never had any kids? Never found the right person?"

"Oh, I thought I did: three times. But, obviously, I was wrong." Saul chuckles, and there's a bitter edge to it he hopes Jesse doesn't hear.

"You've been divorced three times?"

"Yeah. Since the only person I made happy in my marriages was the divorce lawyer, I figured I ought'a get a piece of the action." He spreads his hands. "Somebody's gotta do it, right?"

"That makes a weird amount of sense," Jesse says. He toys with one of the pens on Saul's desk; Saul can tell that's a nervous gesture. Jesse lifts his gaze to Saul, and, wow, Saul can't actually believe this kid is interested in him. He's so goddamn gorgeous.

"I wanna see you again," Jesse says, turning the pen over between his fingers.

Saul's heart leaps in his chest.

"I can't stop thinking about you."

Saul thinks he's having one of those erotic dreams where Jesse shows up at his office and they fuck right here on the desk, Jesse's legs slung over Saul's shoulders and his mouth spilling praises. But Jesse's fully clothed, so this is probably real life.

"We could meet up somewhere or just chill at your place..." Jesse watches Saul's face, and whatever he sees there must not be particularly encouraging, because he adds, "Never mind, it's stupid. Forget it."

"No, it's not. You expectin' the husband to be gone?"

Jesse nods. "He said he'd be busy this weekend. I guess he's gonna spend some time with his kid." He rubs his thumb over his bottom lip, and damn if Saul doesn't want to be that thumb right now.

"I suppose I could check the ol' schedule, see if I'm free." Saul mimes flipping through a day planner. "Oh, whadd'ya know? I am."

Jesse's grin is a thing of wonder. "Sweet."

"Did you have anything particular in mind? 'Cause if you don't, you're in for a pizza-and-movie date for the ages."

"That sounds cool. I'm down for anything."

"This time we'll watch something that's actually good."

"If it sucks I'm not puttin' out," Jesse says with a tease of a smile.

"That sounds fair."

* * *

 

Walt knocks on the Schraders' door on a particularly sunny late afternoon. He doesn't see Marie's car parked in the driveway or on the street, but Hank appears to be home. No answer. He knocks again. Walt hears a muffled sound in the direction of the garage. He knocks on the garage door. Hank hollers, "It's open," so Walt lifts the door up and steps inside.

Hank looks up from his home-brew project spread out across the table. "Oh, Walt, how you holdin' up?"

Walt looks around the garage, pretending to be interested in the collection of hardware displayed on the walls. "I'm alright, all things considered. Where's Marie?"

"She's with Sky. Something about helping her with some book she's writing." Hank chuckles, shakes his head. "I wasn't payin' too much attention." He picks up a bottle and waves it in Walt's face. "Want a drink?"

Walt puts up his hands. "No, no thank you, I just—I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

"Sure, what's up?"

"I, uh, I don't know if this is in your realm of ability, but I find myself in need of a"—he searches for the word—"tracking device, something to tell me a certain person's whereabouts."

"Husband screwin' around on ya?" Hank sneers.

Walt's considered that possibility from every angle, and by all accounts it makes a lot of sense. Why else would Jesse suddenly decide to divorce Walt after five years of wedded bliss? Sure, Jesse can be argumentative and difficult, but their verbal spats never seemed to hold for long, always dissolving after a day or two of rumination or apologies. He wouldn't be willing to lose everything Walt offers unless he had a safety net in place. Jesse's never been so eager to get Walt out of the house as he was this Thanksgiving; they've always spent the holidays together.

And, yeah, maybe Walt spent a sleepless night or two imagining all the things Jesse could do with a day and a half free of Walt's presence, all the ways someone else's hands could touch him. It made him sick, angry nausea roiling in his stomach. But he doesn't think Hank will acquiesce to his wishes if he frames it that way. So he goes with something tried and true: "No, not—not entirely. I'm concerned that he might be using again, and I want to know where he's getting it."

Hank snorts a derisive sound. "Little shithead's divorcin' you. Why do you care if he shoots up?"

Walt's mouth opens in an "o" of surprise. "How do you..."

"Marie told me. C'mon, you can't tell Skyler anything that won't trickle down to Marie."

Walt figured as much, but since he and Skyler are separated he figured the Schraders would be less interested in gossip concerning him. Apparently not.

"Well, Hank, until the case is settled Jesse and I are still married, and I couldn't live with myself if something happened to him under my watch."

Hank makes a face, and it's heads or tails whether he's repulsed that Walt's married to a guy or because Walt cares so deeply about a junkie. He turns away to rifle through a drawer. Hank withdraws a small black object and hands it to Walt. "GPS tracker. Stick this on his car. This part here"—he points to a thin metal chip on the top—"it's a magnet. And see where he goes. Cool, huh? Two eighty-nine from SkyMall. It's not live-view, so you gotta come back and take it off and stick it in the computer."

Walt curls his fingers around the tracker. He's not even going to ask why Hank has this—he was expecting Hank to borrow something from the DEA office, not give him something he already owns for what are most likely extralegal reasons. But he's not going to overthink this.

"Y'know, if you got proof he's screwin' around on you or is into drugs, you can use that in the divorce," Hank says, trying to be helpful.

Walt shakes his head. "I don't—that's not what I want. I don't want this divorce, Hank."

"From what I hear, it's in full swing." Hank raises his hands as if fending off Walt's potential argument. "Look, I don't wanna stick my nose in your business, but, uh, if Pinkman wants out so bad, why don't you let him go? I mean, when the wife ain't happy nobody's happy, right?"

Walt frowns at the turn of phrase. "I think we can still work things out," he says.

Hank shrugs animatedly. "Alright, hey, I'll stay out of it. Just do what you gotta do."

"Thank you."


	7. Chapter 7

_April 2004_

_Jesse licks his lips and climbs his way up Walt's body, tasting him slick and salty on his tongue. Walt's chest heaves with the force of his orgasm, and he's making lost, stunned little sounds against the air before Jesse claims his mouth. Jesse wonders if Walt tastes himself in the kiss, wonders if that turns him on as much as it does Jesse. Walt curls a hand around the back of Jesse's neck and crushes their mouths together, so, yeah, maybe it does._

_Jesse grins around Walt's mouth, his dick tenting in his sweatpants. "You should do me," he murmurs, excited by the idea. Because Walt's never done this for Jesse before, and Jesse's curious as fuck what it might feel like. A ripple of arousal courses through him and makes him flinch._

_Walt hums a noise that manages to sound accusing and contemplative at the same time. "I could try," he says, like Jesse's asked him to do something dangerous and terrible._

_"Yeah, yeah, c'mon, please," Jesse begs in hot rasps of breath. He moves so Walt can slide down the bed onto his knees, and, oh Jesus, that's too much already. He chokes on a breath as Walt tugs his sweats all the way down and off, pushes his thighs apart. His dick's hard and restless already, and Jesse inhales sharply at the stunning heat of Walt's hand around him. "Shit," he huffs out._

_Walt squeezes him tight, licks at the tip of Jesse's cock. Jesse takes a shocked breath and watches Walt's mouth work, opening slow and soft around him. The pressure of Walt's hand shifts between rough and smooth, squeezing and sliding as he sucks and licks, hot mouth teasing at the swollen head of his dick. Jesse whimpers a sound that makes Walt pull a little tighter, and Jesse nudges his hips forward, desperate for the slick heat of Walt's mouth around him._

_"God, just..." Jesse chokes out, moving his hips again, because he sucks at being subtle. Walt doesn't seem to get the message, so Jesse curls a hand around Walt's head and pushes, just enough to sheath more of his dick in Walt's mouth. Jesse makes a long noise of need, because this is exactly what he wants, but Walt's pulling away like he's been burned, gagging and coughing. Jesse didn't even come; the theatrics here are totally unwarranted._

_"Mr. White," Jesse sighs, exasperated, but Walt doesn't hear the frustration there, just goes back to the most lackluster blowjob Jesse's ever been involved in. This is probably the saddest fucking thing that's ever happened to him. "Can you, like, I dunno,_ try _?"_

_Walt lifts his gaze and glares at Jesse. "I am trying," Walt snaps mulishly, his hand squeezing with a little more force than necessary._

_"If I wanted a handjob I'd just do it myself."_

_Walt grumbles under his breath before opening his mouth around the head of Jesse's dick again. There's a flare of bright, white-hot heat where Walt's got his hand around him, and Jesse nudges his hips forward. "C'mon," Jesse coaxes, "just do it like I do." Walt's_ got _to have a baseline for comparison here._

_"I can't," Walt admits, looking wronged and pissed that Jesse would even ask him to do this._

_"It's all about practice, yo. If you're being all shitty about it it's not gonna work."_

_Walt squeezes him tighter, purely out of spite, and Jesse whines and twists his hips, because at least Walt knows how to use his goddamn hands. Walt abandons all attempts at trying new things for crawling up Jesse's body and tugging at his dick in the world's angriest handjob. Jesse huffs, indignant, clutches at Walt's free arm and grumbles, "Asshole," because only Walt could turn a handjob into a form of punishment._

_He wishes he could hold off the orgasm building in his blood, teach Walt that he can't just cheat his way to getting Jesse off, but, damn it all, Jesse's responding in all the wrong ways to the angry pull of Walt's hand. He comes, but he's not happy about it; Walt, however, looks pleased with himself, like coaxing him to orgasm is some sort of victory._

_Which it's totally not._

_"Dick."_

* * *

 

Jesse spends most of Saturday morning putting the finishing touches on an essay for his English class, so Walt gives him a wide berth of space. If there's one thing about Jesse that Walt respects, it's his academic endeavors. At least that grants Jesse a couple hours of peace.

Walt pokes his head into the bedroom at some point in the afternoon. "Walter Junior's up and about. Will you be alright by yourself?" Walt scheduled a trip to the mall with his son today; they should be gone at least two hours. Plenty of time for Jesse to catch a movie with Saul.

Jesse rolls his eyes, still focused on his laptop. "Always am."

"If you need me, let me know."

Jesse's tempted to say something biting like, "I  _don't_  need you," but doesn't. He nods and makes a sound of acknowledgement, typing away on the keyboard. He listens for the sound of Walt walking down the stairs, then the front door opening and closing.

Jesse takes ten minutes trying to beef up the closing paragraph of his paper before just saying "fuck it" and sending it off as is. He shoots Saul a text message:  _ **ready when u are**_. He's in the middle of changing out of his pajamas when he gets a reply with Saul's address.

Jesse's out the door within minutes.

* * *

 

Saul isn't sure of the proper etiquette involved in a date with a married man. Should he dress up or just play it casual? Should he have opted for a "real" date at a public place instead of hosting it in his home? This is entirely new territory for Saul, and he's terrified one wrong move might send it all crashing down. But Jesse seems to like him enough, even when Saul's not trying, so this might not be a total disaster of an evening.

The pizza's cooling by the time Jesse arrives. Saul nearly breaks a hip scrambling to answer the doorbell.

Jesse's grinning when he sees Saul. "Yo, is this the Hot Dad Escort Service?"

Apparently the casual look was not the best move. Saul glances down at his clothes—dark-wash jeans and a black sweater. "Depends, are you my three o'clock? He's into some pretty kinky stuff. They might take us both to jail for even talking about it."

Jesse laughs, and Saul lets him in.

"You're just in time. The pizza's in the kitchen."

Jesse looks around as he makes his way inside, admiring Saul's humble abode. "Cool place."

Saul's sense of décor involves a lot of posters, dated patterns, and wood furniture, so he thinks there's a trace of sarcasm in Jesse's voice. "Really?"

"Yeah, I feel like I'm on the set of  _The Golden Girls_."

"Says the guy with furniture straight from Grandma Direct."

"Hey, I live with an old dude. You got no excuse."

"My excuse is being old." Saul probably shouldn't admit to that in front of his twenty-something boyfriend, but his ridiculously-oversized bald patch probably isn't hiding his age.

"No way," Jesse says, his open mouth curled around a smile. He moves closer and studies Saul's face. "You don't look old."

"You just called me a hot dad about thirty seconds ago."

"That doesn't mean you're old. Shit,  _I_  could be a dad."

"How old do you think I am?"

Jesse tilts his head, his cheeks rounded from the cute little smile on his lips; Saul wants to kiss it away. "I dunno, like, thirty-nine? Forty?"

Saul laughs; the only thing better than Jesse's taste in lawyers is his sense of flattery. "You're adorable," he says before closing his mouth over Jesse's. It's hard to kiss while the other person's grinning like the damn Cheshire cat, but Saul manages. He likes the scrape of stubble against his chin, the way Jesse's mouth feels rough underneath his own. It's a refreshing change from his past few relationships; he hopes Jesse doesn't mind exchanging one old, pudgy schoolteacher for a slightly younger, slightly less pudgy lawyer with a bit more hair. But the way Jesse's curling his fingers in the front of Saul's shirt says he absolutely doesn't mind at all.

They settle onto the couch, the pizza box placed diplomatically between them on the coffee table. Saul lets Jesse pick the movie, because he's the guest and Saul chose last time. Jesse settles on the cheesiest, so-bad-it's-good flick in Saul' s collection, because  _of course_  he does. It has aliens and explosions, so Jesse's absolutely riveted despite his declaration that he's seen this movie, "like, a million times." He may or may not recite some of the dialogue, adding an emphatic "bitch" to the most iconic lines.

The word "adorable" flits through Saul's mind like a passing breeze.

"I saw this at least five times in theaters when it came out," Jesse says around a generous mouthful of pizza. Saul's really tempted to lick the smudge of sauce at the corner of Jesse's mouth.

"I'm not even surprised."

"I know it sucks, but I don't care. I love it. Every time it's on TV, I will watch it 'til the end. Drives Mr. White crazy." His tongue darts out to lick away the sauce; Saul watches with a bit too much interest. "Actually, how come  _you_  have this movie?"

"It's a guilty pleasure."

Jesse gives him a curious look. "You shouldn't feel guilty about likin' something. I like what I like, and if somebody's got a problem with that they can go fuck themselves."

"I think Socrates said that once," Saul says with a smirk. After a moment, he adds, "But you do have one guilty pleasure: me."

"That's totally different, yo," Jesse protests. "But I don't feel guilty cause I like you. There's nothin' wrong with likin' somebody who's good for you, y'know? If you find a person who's funny, nice, hot... How are you not s'posed to want that?"

Saul's mouth curves into a grin. "You think I'm hot?" It's the second time Jesse's said that, so Saul thinks it's a nugget of truth hidden in casual conversation.

Jesse laughs and turns his head away to hide how his cheeks flush. "Shut up. Is that all you heard?"

"No, of course not, Jesse. I'm an astute listener. You also said I was funny and nice. And a hot dad."

Jesse takes another bite of pizza and blushes madly, focusing his attention on the screen, where the aliens are currently destroying the city.

By the time the movie's over, Jesse's sprawled against Saul, tucked into the crook of his arm. Every now and then his socked feet bump against Saul's own. Saul buries his nose in the fluff of Jesse's hair and breathes him in. He smells like something Saul can't quite put a finger on, like those shampoos named after abstract concepts like "summer breeze" or "ocean waves." He nibbles at Jesse's earlobe, kisses a line down his neck. Jesse makes a throaty sound of approval, so Saul figures that's a green light to go a little further. He lays kisses over the freckles on Jesse's shoulders, and when he's kissed them all he hooks a finger in the collar of Jesse's t-shirt and tugs, exposing more speckled spots.

Something warm and solid that might be a hand runs over Saul's thigh. That hand's pretty close to his dick, and Saul casually repositions his hips to nudge Jesse's hand between his legs. Jesse doesn't even flinch, just squeezes Saul in his palm, and Saul just  _has_  to push into that. A coy smile forms at the corner's of Jesse's mouth. His hand works Saul's jeans open, pushing in and cupping him through his boxers. Saul gasps, the breath thick in his throat. He watches the slow slide of Jesse's hand as it moves over his dick and pushes his jeans down his hips.

Saul drops his head against the back of the couch, entirely content with Jesse's hand working him slow and smooth, but Jesse has something else in mind. He climbs off the couch and drops to his knees at Saul's feet.

_Oh._

This is new. Saul should probably have anticipated this—Jesse's no stranger to dicks, obviously—but it's still a shock to see the kid kneeling and pushing his thighs apart. He opens his mouth to protest, to remind Jesse he doesn't owe Saul anything, but closes it when Jesse's fingers ease into the flap of Saul's boxers and bring his dick out.

Jesse's mouth is warm and wet and  _perfect_. Saul groans out loud and sinks into the couch, pushing deeper past Jesse's eager lips. Saul's hands shake as they slide into Jesse's hair, knotting and tugging. He tries not to think of how Jesse learned this, the years of practice on an ungrateful husband who barely returns the favor, but the gentle pressure of Jesse's mouth and the teasing twirl of his tongue rob Saul's brain of any coherent thoughts.

Saul moans out, "Jesse," and Jesse's hands dig into Saul's hips, grateful and eager under the praise. He can feel the head of his cock at the back of Jesse's throat, the supple sucks around the hilt, the reverberations of his moans. Saul pushes forward, because he knows Jesse can take it. Jesse drags his tongue flat along the length of Saul's dick, runs the tip over the bulging vein down the bottom. Jesse makes a satisfied noise around him, as if he's enjoying this as much as Saul.

Saul grabs a handful of Jesse's hair, urging him to keep going, and feels a rise tightening low in his gut. He hears himself moaning breathy, needy fragments of words, syllables cut through with Jesse's name. He might be petting Jesse's hair a little, but Jesse's not stopping, so that must be something he can do. Saul whimpers out a warning before the words catch in his throat and he crumbles. His hands go tight as he makes grateful noises he'll deny making later. It feels like flying and falling all at once, and Jesse doesn't even flinch when Saul's hips buck into his mouth. Jesse slurps and sucks around him, careful to devour every drop.

When Jesse's finished he glances up at Saul with expectant eyes, as if waiting for a grade of his performance. His lips are parted just a bit, and there's a smear of cum at the corner of his mouth; Jesse licks it away, bites his bottom lip in a way that sets Saul's blood aflame. "Never heard you make sounds like that before," he teases, using Saul's thighs as leverage to push himself up.

Jesse's absolutely earned the right to be smug here, so Saul lets him smirk and climb into his lap, his knees on either side of Saul's hips. "Never had an orgasm like that before," Saul admits.

Jesse lifts an eyebrow, a teasing grin on his plush lips. "Oh yeah?"

Saul hums a sound of agreement around Jesse's mouth. "You're pretty fantastic, kid. Kinda makes me wanna return the favor."

"You already did," Jesse reminds him.

"Just so we're clear, you're arguing  _against_  me giving you a blowjob?" He can't wrap his head around that one.

"No, just sayin' you don't owe me jack. Do it 'cause you want to."

Saul captures Jesse's mouth again. "I want to."

"And I want you to," Jesse says, smiling. "But... I kinda had somethin' else in mind."

Saul leans back a bit to get a better look at Jesse's face. "Oh? What's that?"

Jesse lays his hands on Saul's shoulders, palms curving around the slope of Saul's neck. "This time, I want you to fuck me," he says, without a trace of nervousness or chagrin.

"What, you got a Kama Sutra bingo card to fill out?"

Jesse huffs out a laugh. "You're arguing  _against_  puttin' your dick in me?" He pushes a hand through Saul's hair at the back of his head.

"Not a chance, and if I ever do, pull the plug."

Saul leads him into the bedroom, a hand on Jesse's lower back to guide him and wind him up. His fingers push underneath Jesse's t-shirt and trail over the curve of his spine. He can feel the way Jesse's skin jumps at his touch. He wonders what might happen if he brings his hand around the curve of Jesse's waist, trails his fingers over the solid line of hipbone. Jesse makes a noise in his throat and looks over his shoulder at Saul. Saul moves in closer, lays his other hand on Jesse's hip and kisses him, because he can't resist when Jesse's pink, amazing lips are  _right there._

Jesse turns his whole body so he can get his hands full of Saul's sweater. Saul tilts his head, slips his tongue into Jesse's open mouth, and there goes Saul's sweater, lifted up and tossed aside by Jesse's eager hands. Jesse flattens his palms over Saul's chest, fingers gliding through hair, then his thumb trips across a nipple, and Saul gasps around Jesse's mouth. Jesse giggles and shoves Saul's jeans and boxers over his hips in one go, then he's nudging him in the direction of the bed, the heat of his hands palming curves and ridges and valleys.

Saul lands on the mattress and gazes up at Jesse, who's licking his lips and crawling on top of him. Jesse covers Saul's mouth with his own, hungry and fierce. Saul finds himself hooking his legs around Jesse's, and his brain decides it's definitely not weird at all that he kind of wants Jesse to fuck him, would let him if he asked.

He wonders if Jesse's allowed this kind of sexual outlet with Walt. From the sound of their relationship, Walt's probably not big on letting someone else dominate him, so, no, Jesse most likely hasn't been able to pin Walt to the mattress and take the lead.

Thinking about what Jesse does in bed with his husband makes their own sexual encounters a thousand times more awkward; Saul refuses to go down that road again, because Jesse's jerking lazily at Saul's dick in hopes of jump-starting an erection, which, good luck with that. Saul reaches out and pops the button on Jesse's jeans, works his hand inside. Jesse moans, shaky and unbridled, his breath hot over Saul's mouth. Saul's pushing Jesse's boxers down his hips when Jesse sits up in Saul's lap and pulls his shirt over his head. Saul wets his lips at the sight of the delectable tattoo above Jesse's nipple.

Then Jesse folds at the waist to kiss him, Saul gets him undressed, and, oh God, they're naked together. His hand slides over Jesse's bare hip and down the stretch of his thigh. Saul catches the jut of Jesse's cock in his palm and squeezes, just enough to pull a flick of hips and a soft groan out of him. "I wanted you to fuck me," Jesse growls around Saul's mouth, and, wow, that's unfairly hot.

"And I will," Saul promises, his thumb twirling around the head, a drag of sensation over taut nerves. Jesse's already hard, pushing his hips into Saul's fist like he can't stop. Saul takes his hand away when the tip of Jesse's cock leaks pre-cum, and Jesse breathes out an angry sound of aborted want, staring at Saul with half-lidded, stormy eyes.

Saul tips his head up to kiss Jesse's mouth, because even though he's got Jesse's entire body bare before him, the kid's mouth is the only spot he can suckle and kiss and bite and not leave marks. There is no justice in the entire world. Jesse's nipples come a close second though, so when he's finished ravishing Jesse's mouth that's where he goes next. Jesse moans, sucks in a breath when Saul takes the nub between his teeth. Saul wraps a hand around the inside of Jesse's thigh, pushes the other into the messy spikes of Jesse's hair. The edge of his hand is too fucking close to Jesse's dick, his fingers so close to rubbing over his opening. Saul thinks about it for a split-second and feels dizzy, like he might fall despite being flat on his back.

Knowing Saul's luck, he'll black out before even putting his dick in Jesse.

Jesse's kissing him when Saul asks, "Jess', can I..." He doesn't know how to finish that sentence, so he just leaves it hanging in the air.

"You can do whatever you want, yo," Jesse says before claiming his mouth again. Saul brings his hands to Jesse's waist to keep him steady as he rolls them over. Jesse looks fucking breathtaking on his back like this, gazing up at Saul with his lips parted and his eyes wide and eager. Yeah, it's pretty much on at this point.

Saul digs through the nightstand drawer for the bottle of lube. Jesse props himself up on his elbows to watch. Saul gets his fingers wet, teases the flushed pink of Jesse's opening. Jesse drops his head back and moans a low, gorgeous sound into the silence. Saul rubs him open, moving his fingers in slow circles, pushing him to the edge then bringing him back before the breaking point.

Jesse lifts his head to meet Saul's eyes, struggling like it's taking all he has. "Afraid you won't fit?" he says with a teasing smirk before another stroke of Saul's fingers steals it away.

"I like listening to you."

Jesse's cheeks go hot in a way Saul doubts is only from embarrassment. "I'll make a lot more noise when your dick's in me." His voice shakes horribly and catches a bit as Saul eases his fingers out to reach for the bottle again. Jesse's tender, fractured little moans have Saul rock hard already; he slicks himself up, cups his free hand underneath Jesse's knee, and eases in, careful to watch the way Jesse's mouth opens around a groan. "God, yeah, that's it"—Jesse sucks in a breath through his teeth—"shit, that's good."

Every fragment of energy and emotion inside Saul's body tells him to shove in and fuck Jesse until he's a cum-smeared mess on the bed, but he figures that's Walt's modus operandi, and Saul wants to offer something different. So he keeps his rhythm slow, focuses on covering every inch of Jesse with kisses and soft touches. Jesse writhes and squirms under Saul's hands and mouth, his hips lifting to meet the apex of Saul's thrusts. He clutches at Saul's back, his thin fingers digging in to the base of Saul's spine. Jesse's got his legs thrown around Saul's own while they move together. Jesse's so fucking tight and wet and warm around Saul's dick, Saul can barely concentrate on maintaining the gentle pulse of his hips.

Jesse moans Saul's name, and Saul feels the scrape of fingernails over his back. "You're close, huh?"

"Yeah," Jesse pants, "totally." He brings a hand to Saul's face and pulls him closer, their mouths meeting in quick, breathy pecks. Jesse manages to lock in a pretty decent kiss as his fingers drag over the back of Saul's shoulder. His hand edges its way into Saul's hair, tugging in a way that says he'll wage war if Saul stops now. Saul feels the sweet, slow burn of arousal low at the base of his spine. He rocks his hips, smooth and unhurried, against Jesse's own. Jesse's head tilts back against the mattress, rushed whispers falling from his lips. "Saul, oh God, oh please, oh fuck, oh—"

The rest of the words choke to a stop when Jesse comes in a stretch that has him clutching at Saul's hair, his back, his arms, any surface he can find as he spurts sticky white over his belly. Everything about that is the hottest thing Saul's ever seen, and he feels justified in thrusting a few times to break himself open. He digs his fingers into the meat of Jesse's thigh, his hips pistoning hard and fast now that the dam's broken. Jesse's still gasping praises and lurching his hips into Saul's thrusts, trying to match their frantic rhythm. His chest heaves with quick, shallow breaths, and Saul doubts he's faring any better on that front. He's completely spent; two orgasms is about all he can muster in such a short time period. Hell, he's lucky if he averages two orgasms a  _day_  anymore.

Jesse's gazing up at him with a languid, head-in-the-clouds smile as his fingers feather through Saul's hair. Saul has to dip down and kiss him, because that's pretty much his go-to reaction to Jesse's flirty smiles. Jesse hums around Saul's mouth, content. "You're amazing," Jesse says when his mouth is free.

Saul lifts an eyebrow. "Even for a hot dad?"

"Will you let it go already?" Jesse snorts, covering his face with a hand. "I take it back, you're just a regular un-hot dad."

"Who just gave you the mother of all orgasms," Saul says, because, yeah, he's not forgetting the way Jesse's spine arched in bliss or the way he sounded when he came. "Also, I'm getting you a dictionary; I highly doubt 'un-hot' is a word."

Jesse pouts and thwacks Saul's arm. "Bitch." As if reconsidering, he slides his hand around the curve of Saul's shoulder. Saul kisses Jesse's chin, the sandpaper-rough line of his jaw, sucks a kiss underneath his earlobe. Jesse's hands roam over his skin in gentle exploration, his fingertips trailing over Saul's spine and shoulder blades as if curious how he's built. Saul wraps one hand around Jesse's thigh and strokes his thumb over the inside, making Jesse shift and giggle.

"Are you ticklish?" Saul asks, his fingers suddenly mischievous against Jesse's sensitive flesh. He brushes over the lattice of Jesse's ribs, skims a thumb along his side.

Jesse squirms and bites his lower lip. "Ay yo, stop! I'm not."

Except he so is, because he's writhing and twisting under Saul's touch like there's ants under his skin. "I think you might be."

"I'm gonna kick you in the dick," Jesse says through breathless giggles. His legs wriggle underneath Saul, though any foot-to-dick contact would likely be an accident; Jesse doesn't have the heart to intentionally wound him.

"Yeah, you probably will." Saul ceases his teasing, and Jesse slumps into the mattress like the tension's dropped out of him. "Maybe next time."

Jesse curls his fingers around the back of Saul's neck. "Next time, huh?"

"Yeah, I'm thinkin' maybe I could take you out."

"In public? You think that's a good idea?"

"It's a great idea. I can write it off as a business expense, and I get to be with you."

Jesse smiles, shuts his eyes and turns his head so his cheek's lying flat on the pillow. Saul trails his mouth over the delicious line of Jesse's throat. When Jesse opens his eyes, he breathes out a quiet laugh. "You got a lava lamp?"

Saul follows his line of sight, sees that he's looking at the lamp on the night table. "You startin' to regret this now?" he jokes.

Jesse does that adorable nose-crinkling thing. "No way. It's just... When I first moved in with Mr. White, he set up this makeshift chem lab in the basement, and I made one of those to, like, impress him, I guess." He smiles wistfully at the memory. "It was pretty dope for bein' homemade."

It seems all roads lead back to Walter White; Saul thinks that's the way it should be, though. He isn't sure he'd want Jesse to feel totally remorseless about what they're doing here, even if Walt deserves none of Jesse's sympathy. That sympathy, the heart that feels too much, is one of Saul's favorite things about Jesse.

"Oh shit!" Jesse springs up like a jack-in-the-box; Saul nearly topples over giving him room. "I'm late!"

"You have class?"

Jesse gathers his clothes off the floor in a scramble. "No, it's Mr. White. He went out today, but I figured he'd only be gone, like, two hours, so I wanted to be home when he came back." He pulls his jeans over his hips.

"He might still be out," Saul says, always the optimist.

Jesse's shoving his arms through his shirt sleeves. "I don't wanna risk it."

Saul figures he ought to get dressed too if he's seeing Jesse out. He finds his jeans and pulls them on as Jesse's rushing out to the living room for his shoes he'd discarded by the front door. "You think he'll be suspicious that you went out?"

"Probably, yeah," Jesse says, shoving his feet into his shoes. "I need a good alibi, yo. You're a lawyer, c'mon. Help me out."

Saul chuckles. "Not that kind of lawyer. And criminal lawyers don't even provide alibis."

"Whatever."

Saul moves closer, wraps his hands around Jesse's slender hips. "How involved is he in your academic life? Could you tell him you were at school studying for a test?"

Jesse looks off, like he's thinking about it. "Yeah, I could—I could come up with somethin' like that."

Saul gives him a light smile. "See? Crisis averted."

"Maybe," Jesse says, but he's smiling too. Saul just seems to have that effect on people. Jesse lays his hands on Saul's chest. "I had fun today."

"Me too, kid. You're surprisingly limber. But I guess you would be, you've had practice."

Jesse trails his fingers down the length of Saul's abdomen, stops when he reaches the edge of denim. "I wish I could be, like, y'know,  _new_  for you," he murmurs, staring at his hands. "It kinda blows to get stuck with Mr. White's sloppy seconds, right?"

Saul hooks a finger under Jesse's chin to force him to meet his eyes. "Hey, that doesn't matter to me. I'm attracted to  _you_ , Jesse, not your sexual history."

Jesse's cheeks flush a delicious color, and the corner of his mouth tips into a small smile. "Some dudes get off on the whole blushing virgin thing, so..."

"Guys like Walt? Maybe I'm missing something, but the only men you've been with are him and me, right? I'm not a scientist, but I don't think that's a large enough sample size."

Jesse gives him an earnest look. "How come you're not married?"

"Because I hadn't found you yet." Saul's entirely aware of how lame that is, but Jesse's a fan of cheesy movies, so maybe he'll find it endearing.

His nose crinkles as he laughs. "Wow. How many times have you used that line?"

"Just this once. I was saving it."

Jesse captures Saul's mouth under his own one last time. "How sweet."

"Yeah, I'm a regular candy man."

"Alright, Sugar Daddy, I gotta go." Jesse's fingertips trip over Saul's chest as his hands fall away. "See ya."

"Be safe, kid."


	8. Chapter 8

_June 2004_

_It's dark by the time Jesse comes through the front door of his home. Walt's waiting for him in the living room, like he's Jesse's dad, ready to punish him for missing curfew. "Where have you been?" Walt asks, demanding._

_Jesse moves for the stairs. "Out."_

_Walt grabs at his sleeve and stops him, just forceful enough to scare Jesse into answering whatever questions Walt might have. "Out where?"_

_"At school," Jesse lies, because Walt can't be too upset when it involves his studies, right? "Some math club had a meeting, tryin' to get new members. I thought it was lame, but they had free pizza, so..." He shrugs, lets the free pizza speak for itself._

_Walt's brow furrows, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, then he does something Jesse doesn't expect: he kisses him. Jesse grins around Walt's mouth, pleased that his lies went over so well, but it only takes a moment for Walt to pull away like he's been burned, and Jesse realizes the intent behind the affection._

_"Did they also serve alcohol at this meeting?" Walt accuses._

_Jesse stops breathing._

_Walt wrinkles his nose. "Why do you smell like cigarettes?"_

_"'Cause I smoked one in the car. Jesus." He tries to move past Walt, but Walt stops him with an iron hand. Jesse glances up at him, meek and unassuming under the fierceness of Walt's stare. Something in Walt's eyes says another lie might push him too far, so Jesse murmurs, "Alright, I was at a friend's house."_

_"What friend?"_

_Jesse glances away, mumbles, "Badger."_

_Walt breathes out a hard exhale and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Jesse..."_

_"I didn't do anything," Jesse insists. It's true, but Jesse doesn't know if Walt will believe him since his every other word has been coated in lies. "We just hung out and played video games. The worst thing I did was drink beer."_

_Walt's not thrilled by this new turn in the conversation. "Jesse, we've talked about this—"_

_"I know, but he's totally cool about it. He doesn't offer me anything, and I don't ask. C'mon, Mr. White, it's been, like, ten months. I'm good."_

_"It only takes one slip-up, Jesse, and all your hard work will be for nothing."_

_Jesse huffs annoyance, glances away. "I'm not—I'm not gonna slip up."_

_Walt lays his hands on Jesse's shoulders in a comfortable, loving gesture. "Jesse." Is it wrong that Jesse loves when Walt says his name like that, all low and infused with concern? Jesse can't help but look at him. "Ten months is great, and I'm proud of you, but it's not that long. You could still relapse, and I don't want to see all the effort you've put in go out the window because of one poor decision. But you can't lie to me, Jesse. I won't be upset with you if, God forbid, you do have a lapse of judgement, but I don't want you lying to me. Do you understand?"_

_Jesse nods, his mouth dry. "I'm sorry."_

_Walt curves a hand around Jesse's cheek; Jesse thinks the frantic pounding of his heart might be audible to the entire state of New Mexico, but Walt doesn't seem to notice. "I'm only looking out for you. You're capable of great things, Jesse, and I don't want anything to spoil that."_

_Jesse wets his mouth, and, yeah, he's a little dazzled. "I get it. It's cool."_

_Walt continues to be uncharacteristically nice that night, going so far as to curl an arm around Jesse and tuck him up close in bed. Jesse's got half a mind to be suspicious, but he doesn't want to sound like a dick, accusing Walt of... what exactly? Being too nice? He knows the bemused look that would earn him, so he's not going to bother. "You're not pissed at me?" he says instead._

_Walt breathes hot over the back of Jesse's neck. "I wasn't pissed at you. I was upset that you lied, but I think you understand why it's important to be honest with me."_

_Jesse nods and cuddles closer, slips an arm around Walt's waist. He burrows his face into the space between Walt's neck and shoulder. "I just... I hate feelin' like I'm your kid. We're married, yo. I shouldn't have to feel like you're my dad and not my husband, y'know?"_

_Jesse feels the slow swell of Walt's chest against his cheek. "What if you had something to look after for me? For example, you could monitor my diet for something—carbs, cholesterol, fat—and I could look after your sobriety? Maybe then it wouldn't feel so unbalanced."_

_Jesse breathes laughter over Walt's skin. "Yeah, I guess I could figure something out. Do I get to give you a lecture if you lie to me?"_

_Walt smiles and covers Jesse's mouth with his own. "I think you've earned it."_

* * *

 

Jesse lights up a cigarette on the drive home, cloaking himself in the scent of tobacco. He's not sure if he actually smells like Saul or if he's just desensitized to Saul's cologne, but Jesse can't risk Walt sniffing out his infidelity. Walt will keep his distance if Jesse reeks of cigarette smoke.

Panic rises in Jesse's chest when he rolls into his driveway and sees Walt's car parked there. How long has Walt been home? Is he in a cordial mood or will he take Jesse's every word as a personal insult? Jesse wills his hands to stop shaking and unlocks the front door.

"Yo, Mr. White," Jesse calls.

Walt emerges at the top of the stairs. "You're home? Where were you?"

 _Show time_. "I had to go to the library to do some last-minute research for that English paper."

"You went to the library?" Walt asks with an unreasonable amount of disbelief in his voice. "Do you even  _have_  a library card?"

"You don't need a card if you don't check anything out." Jesse rolls his eyes and heads up the stairs. Walt moves out of his way, still giving him the skeptical teacher eye. "Lemme get a shower and I'll make dinner."

"No need," Walt says. "Walter Junior and I caught a late lunch."

"Okay, whatever." Less work for Jesse; all he has to do is microwave something and call it a day.

The hot water feels good on his skin, washing away the dried jizz on his belly. In his haste to leave Saul's house, he'd forgotten to clean himself up. If Walt had seen that... Jesse shakes off the thought.

* * *

 

While Jesse's in the shower, Walt sneaks out the front door and retrieves the tracking device from Jesse's car. He's calling bullshit on that shaky alibi; it sounded too rehearsed, too perfect to be real. And, of course, maybe there's a chance Jesse's telling the truth, but Walt doubts it.

He gets inside and into the bedroom, plugs the tracker into his laptop. It takes him a moment to make sense of the data, but the graph highlights Jesse's most recent excursion, and that is  _so_  not the library. It's a house in an upper-class neighborhood, too expensive to belong to some junkie friend of Jesse's.

A dealer, maybe? No, a real estate purchase like that would raise too many eyebrows coming from the average drug dealer. Highly unlikely.

Paranoia flares up in Walt's brain again, and the elephant in the room rears its ugly head once more: Jesse's having an affair. Jesse's recent behavior is strange, but doesn't fall in line with what Walt knows he's like when he's on drugs. An affair puts it all in an entirely new light. Jesse met someone else, fooled around and fell in love, as the song goes, and instigated the divorce; his distant, confrontational behavior stems from having someone on the side and guilt weighing on his conscience.

Walt sees red, his hands balling into fists. Not only did Jesse sneak out for a mid-day booty call, he stayed there for two hours and eighteen minutes,  _and_  he lied about it. Walt needs to know the identity of this mystery person, needs to know who Jesse runs to for comfort and reassurance. He plugs the address into a search but finds nothing of value. He doubted it would be that easy, but he had to try.

So, Walt deduces, this is someone who's smart. Someone, maybe, who doesn't want to be found. Walt contemplates his next course of action for about five seconds before grabbing his phone and dialing Hank.

"Walt?"

"Hank? Yeah, hi, it's me."

Hank chuckles. "No shit. Whadd'ya need?"

"You, uh, you remember that device you gave me? Well, I found an address, and, I don't know if this is asking too much, but if you could look it up for me, find out the owner... I'd just like to make sure Jesse isn't associating with any shady characters who might not have his best interest in mind."

Hank sighs. "Aw, c'mon, Walt, I don't wanna get involved in any marital disputes you guys got—"

"You gave me the device, Hank. You're involved."

Hank's quiet for a moment, then: "What's the address?"

Walt reads it off for him. He can hear keys clacking on the other end. After a long stretch of silence, Hank laughs. "You're not gonna believe this, but the address? Registered to a Saul Goodman. Y'know, the lawyer on TV with the shitty commercials?" He chuckles. "I've seen better acting in an epileptic whorehouse."

Walt's blood runs cold. Of course it would be the divorce lawyer. He feels himself shaking, and he has to grab onto the edge of the table to make himself stop. Rage builds up inside of him, like an engine about to blow.

"Walt? You still there?"

"Y—yeah."

"Look, if you go after this guy, I can't help you, alright? Don't be an idiot."

Walt swallows back the fury in his throat. "I won't, Hank. Really. I'm fine. Thank you for your help."

"Yeah, no problem. Hang in there."

Walt hangs up and lets the rage smolder in his chest.

* * *

 

Jesse comes downstairs after his shower and submerges himself in the darkness. The shades are drawn to keep the fading sunlight out. He scans the room for any sign of Walt. He can't find him, but his eyes haven't adjusted to the awkward, blinding slivers of light peeking through the curtains. Jesse figures Walt's gone to bed already. A little early, but whatever. He's sick; he gets tired quicker.

Jesse's heading for the kitchen when Walt clears his throat. Jesse jumps at the sound. "Jesus, Mr. White," he breathes out around a shaky laugh. "Hidin' in the dark? Kinda theatrical, don't you think?"

Walt rises from his spot on the couch, moves slowly and deliberately toward Jesse. "Did you meet with your attorney today, Jesse?"

Jesse swallows thickly. "No."

"Really? So you haven't seen Saul, or spoken to Saul? You weren't at his house today?"

Panic seizes Jesse's insides in a vise grip. He knows _. Oh fuck oh God oh Jesus_. "No, why are you—"

Walt reaches out and fists a hand in Jesse's t-shirt, yanking him close enough that Jesse can smell the alcohol on his breath. "You look me in the eye and tell me you weren't at his house today."

Jesse thinks his legs might give out underneath him. His hands are impossibly slippery, sweat prickling at the back of his neck. His heart hammers in his chest. "I—I—okay, okay, I was there! He had a couple questions for me and he wasn't at the office, so he just had me come over!" Jesse knows he's screwed, because that's a terrible answer, but he didn't have enough time to formulate a better one.

"You lying little shit!" Walt shoves him up against the wall and knocks the air out of him. Jesse gasps for breath, pain bursting through him. "You were there for two hours and eighteen minutes! What questions could he possibly have for you that couldn't be answered over the phone?"

"How do you know I was even there?" Jesse manages through his spasming lungs.

"I put a device on your car. I know exactly where you went and how long you were there, and I know that you lied to me—"

"You bugged my car?" Jesse shouts, incredulous.

"Oh, forgive me for not taking a junkie on his word!"

"I've been clean for five years, bitch!"

Walt chooses to ignore that. "How long have you been screwing him? Did he fill your head with this ridiculous divorce idea?"

"No,  _I_  did that! If you wanna stay here and be a pain in my ass 'til the divorce is final, fine, but we're not married anymore. I'm done with you,  _Walt_."

Walt's fist snaps forward and smashes into Jesse's face, right above his eye. His knuckles land like a sledgehammer, crashing into Jesse's brow as if his bones are made of Styrofoam. Jesse loses his balance and starts to fall, but Walt's other fist is wrapped in Jesse's t-shirt, keeping him upright. Walt's on him immediately, forcing his back against the wall. Jesse's skull bounces off the drywall. Pain explodes in his head. He feels something warm and wet trickle into his eye.

"We're done when I say we're done," Walt growls. "Let me tell you what's going to happen next. You're going to call off this divorce and remain my husband. I, in return, will keep Saul Goodman's little  _indiscretions_  to myself."

Jesse blinks, his eyes watering.

"If you proceed with the divorce, you sign his disbarment," Walt continues, each word like a nail being hammered through Jesse's limbs. "Saul will be blackballed. He won't practice law again, not after this breach of ethics."

Jesse could never live with himself if he was responsible for that. And, of course, Walt knows it.

Jesse thinks his head is leaking. There's too much blood. Why is there so much blood? He wants to raise a hand to his face and assess the damage, but his muscles won't obey. He whimpers a pathetic sound of agony, sobs rising in his chest. Walt loosens his fist and lets go. Jesse slumps against the wall, wiping his runny eyes with his hands.

"Just think about it, won't you?" Walt says in a low voice. Jesse hears the fading sound of his footsteps climbing the staircase, then the sound of a door closing. He lets a couple sobs break free and rack his lungs before swallowing them down. His legs still quake with adrenaline, but he manages to make it into the kitchen and grab a dishrag to stem the bleeding.

Jesse discovers the extent of his injuries—there's a split in the skin above his eye, right on the eyebrow. That must be where the blood's coming from; his fingers are wet, so he can't be too certain, but that seems like a safe bet. Jesse sits on the kitchen floor and keeps the rag pressed to his head for what feels like ages, long enough until the bleeding slows to something more manageable. He tosses the rag into the trash—yeah, there's no saving that—and gets to his feet.

On shaky legs, Jesse ventures up the stairs, gripping the banister for balance. He peers into the bedroom, sees Walt's sleeping form on the bed. Jesse edges the door open and sneaks inside. He doesn't know exactly when sneaking around his own house became necessary, but it probably started when he married Walt. Jesse creeps around the bed to the night table on "his" side where he lays his phone, wallet, and keys. The phone and the wallet go into his pockets quietly, but the keys pose a challenge.

Jesse can't tell how deep of a sleep Walt's in, if the jangle of keys will rouse him. He's just going to have to risk it if he wants out of here. He reaches out, gets his fingers around the metal. The keys clink together. Jesse holds his breath and watches Walt. Walt doesn't move, just snores a little louder into the pillow. Jesse lifts the keys off of the table and fits them into his pocket with minimum jangle. He casts one last glance at Walt before leaving the room.


	9. Chapter 9

_December 2005_

_Jesse leans his head against the cold glass of the passenger window in Walt's Aztek—or as Jesse's dubbed it, The Asstek. He made the mistake of saying that out loud once. Never again. But Walt's noise of offense hasn't stopped Jesse from calling it that in his head._

_They're on their way home from a depressing-as-hell visit with Walt's ex-family. Really, the only bright spot there is Junior, who at least treats Jesse with a modicum of respect. Jesse gets that it's not easy accepting Walt's sudden lifestyle shift, but is it too much to ask that they treat him like a human being with feelings and dignity? Apparently so._

_Jesse stuffs his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and watches neon signs pass by for stores he wishes he could afford to shop at. All the commercials advertising Christmas sales only remind him of how isolated he is. His parents have made their position on Jesse's marriage crystal clear, and Walt's got a raging boner for keeping Jesse away from his friends who might lure him back into using drugs again. So the only person Jesse's got to buy gifts for is Walt, which is harder than it sounds, because he's not the type to appreciate corny, groan-inducing science humor like Jesse thought he might their first Christmas together._

_Sure, he can buy gifts for Junior, but Junior will never see Jesse as a step-father or even a father figure. Which is probably due to Jesse having a mere ten years on him; he's more of an older brother or even a cool uncle. But not a dad._

_"Do you ever think about having another kid?" Jesse asks._

_That probably wasn't a question Jesse should have asked while Walt's in control of a vehicle. There's a leathery creaking sound as Walt's hands tighten on the wheel, his knuckles going white._

_"I mean, Junior's gonna be a teenager pretty soon, and, I dunno, it might be nice to have a younger one around. Jake was pretty fun when he was comin' up." Jesse tends to ramble when he's nervous, a trait he's certain Walt knows by now._

_"I... haven't given that much thought," Walt says, carefully measuring his words like they're bombs about to burst. "It's a lot of work, raising children."_

_Jesse nods. "I know. But, y'know, it's just somethin' to think about." He looks over at Walt, who's staring intently at the road ahead. "If you were still with your ex-wife, what would you do if she got pregnant again? Would you... make her get rid of it?"_

_Walt doesn't answer for a moment, then: "I would—_ we _would take precautions to ensure that wasn't a decision we'd have to make."_

_Kind of a roundabout way to say "birth control," but whatever. Walt's a wordy motherfucker. "Accidents happen," Jesse says with a shrug. "I was an accident."_

_"Of course you were," Walt mutters under his breath, and Jesse feels a pang of offense._

_"But, y'know, an accident isn't a bad thing," he says. "It's just somethin' you didn't know you wanted 'til you got it. A mistake is somethin' you'd go back and change if you could."_

_Walt fixes him with a judgemental look. "What's your point, Jesse?"_

_Jesse shrinks under the criticism. He shrugs his shoulders lamely. "Just, y'know, think about it, I guess."_

_Walt breathes out a deep sigh. "Jesse..." Like his name is enough to just end the conversation right here. But Jesse gives him that quizzical, open expression that forces Walt to say more. "I think, after Junior's grown, that part of my life is over. If I were to have another child now, I'd be sixty-four when he—or she—graduates high school."_

_Jesse feels his heart sink in his chest. His brain says:_ you fucked up _. Maybe if he'd presented the topic in a neater way, more professional. Something involving a PowerPoint slideshow with visual aids and statistics, all that academia shit Walt loves. Jesse thinks the idea has merit, that he can convince Walt if he could only find the right combination of words. Because Walt's already got one kid; he's not entirely opposed to the concept of children._

_But Jesse doesn't push the topic further, just stares out the window and thinks about his options._

* * *

 

_January 2006_

_Jesse's reading a chapter in his philosophy textbook when Walt comes barging into the living room like an angry bull. Jesse looks up, sees a handful of pamphlets clenched in Walt's fist, and suddenly his heart's pounding in his chest._

_"I thought we settled this matter, Jesse," Walt says through clenched teeth. He's holding pamphlets Jesse's collected for various surrogacy and adoption programs. So not only is this subject a berserk button for Walt, but he also goes through Jesse's bureau drawers. Fantastic._

_Jesse sets the book aside and shrivels under Walt's furious glare._

_"Please, please tell me you haven't made any moves here—"_

_"No, no, of course not. I was just doin' research. Seein' what our options are."_

_"Our_ options _?" Walt repeats, incredulous. "I thought I told you I didn't want to pursue this."_

_"'Cause you'll be, like, sixty when the kid's eighteen? So what, yo? You'll be fifty-three when Junior gets outta high school anyway."_

_Walt's shaking his head and moving closer in a particularly threatening way. "I don't want you thinking about this, alright? We are not having children."_

_Jesse gulps, swallows down his disappointment. He can't understand why Walt's got such a stick up his ass about this thing. He's gonna get old anyway; why not spend the time nurturing a new life?_

_"I'm sorry," Jesse murmurs, though he isn't exactly sure what he's sorry for. Those words just seem to be a reflex around Walt. He shouldn't have to apologize for thinking about starting a family with his husband. That's what couples_ do _, goddamn it. And they've been married a decent amount of time that it shouldn't be weird to bring the subject up. If it's too soon, why can't Walt just say that?_

_"I just... I really wanna have kids," Jesse manages to say. "I'm good with them. I've got practice, y'know, with Jake. I think I'd be a good dad."_

_Walt lifts a skeptical eyebrow. "Two years ago you were a strung-out drug addict," he says, and, oh my God, will there ever be a time when Walt doesn't use that as some sort of argumentative ammunition?_

_"Yeah, well, people change. I'd probably be dope at keeping my kids off drugs 'cause I got, like, experience instead of just the bullshit they tell you in those DARE programs."_

_"Becoming a teacher would be an ideal career for you, then," Walt says, missing the point entirely. "You could be around children and mold their futures without all the responsibility of being a parent."_

_Jesse huffs a sigh. "Just 'cause you work in a high school where you see how shitty kids can be when they grow up doesn't mean our kids would be like that." Because Jesse thinks a great way to childproof your home is to work in the public school system, especially in a high school. Christ Almighty. "Hell, Junior's not gonna end up like I was back then."_

_Walt doesn't say anything, but Jesse knows he hasn't changed anything. Walt shakes his head and moves in closer. "Jesse, we're not doing this, okay? Do you understand?"_

_"Yeah, I get it. We're not havin' kids." The words scrape in his throat like shards of glass. The sting of tears pushes at his eyes, but he fights it. He's not letting Walt see how much this conversation has wounded him._

_Walt's posture relaxes, and he stands up a little straighter. "I'm glad we're on the same page, then."_

_Jesse diverts his attention back to his textbook, but there's no ignoring the dull ache in his chest or the way his eyes want to leak tears. He tries to focus on the words until they turn blurry._

_There has to be some bigger, more important reason for Walt's adamant stance than just being old. He mentioned Jesse's ex-junkie status; maybe he's afraid Jesse's not stable enough in his sobriety to be a positive parent and role model for a child. If he were to relapse, how much danger would he put their children in? What kind of example would he set for them?_

_That's got to be it. After all, it's only been two years since Jesse's been off drugs. Not a very long time to prove himself. Maybe in a few years Walt will change his mind after seeing Jesse stay on the straight and narrow. Give him some more confidence in Jesse._

_Jesse feels a bit better now that he's got a future to work towards._

* * *

 

Saul's searching for a suitable dinner in the fridge when his cell phone rings. The screen reads: "Pinkman." A lump swells in his throat. If Jesse had a question about something, he would have sent a text. Jesse wouldn't call him this late unless something was wrong.

Saul presses the answer button and says, "Jesse?"

Jesse sniffles, and three words tear through Saul's chest like a reaper's scythe: "He knows, Saul."

"Oh God." Fear wraps around him in tight bands. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Jesse insists after another sniffle. His voice sounds low and raw, like he's been crying for a while. "I don't know if he's gonna come after you or whatever, but I wanted to warn you."

"Jesse, did he hurt you?" Jesse's quiet for a moment too long, and Saul  _knows_. He shuts his eyes in pain. "Jesus..."

"It's nothing. I'm fine," Jesse pleads, but the way his voice cracks in his throat tells Saul that's a huge fucking lie.

"Did you file a report?"

"No, no, Saul, it's not a big deal. Just drop it, okay?"

"He hit you," Saul says, because domestic violence is a hell of a big deal. "If you file a report, you can use that against him in the divorce."

"No, he said he would—if I didn't drop the case, he said he was gonna turn you in." Saul can hear the panic in his voice.

"How did he find out? Did you tell him?"

"He put a bug on my car."

Saul exhales in relief. "So the only evidence he has for an affair is that you've been to my house? Shit, any two-bit lawyer could poke holes in that. He's got nothin'. I wouldn't worry about that."

Jesse's breathing heavy on the other end. "You—you really think so?"

"He's bluffing, kid."

A pause. "You're totally sure he can't do anything to you?"

"I think it's sweet you wanna protect me, but I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself." Saul hears Jesse sniffle again. "Do you need someplace safe to stay for the night?"

"No, I'm—I'm at a motel. I'm fine."

"Jesus, I said somewhere  _safe_ , not somewhere you'll get stabbed and mugged. Where are you? I'll come get you."

"No, Saul, he knows where you live—"

"Just tell me where you are." Saul feels a chill; he doesn't think Walt will do anything, but, man, if he does Jesse can't be anywhere near him.

Jesse heaves a deep sigh, like Saul's benevolence inconveniences him somehow. "The Crossroads Motel." He gives Saul the address.

"What room are you in?"

"No room. I'm in my car."

"Are you—Okay, I'm coming to get you. Just sit tight, kid."

Saul hangs up and dials another number. After two rings, a gravelly voice answers, "Articulate."

"Seriously? Is that how you answer your phone now?"

Mike sighs, loud and crackly on the other end. "What do you need, Saul?"

Saul can hear a din in the background, maybe from a TV or a radio. "You remember Jesse White, don't you?"

"I do."

"Well, his husband knocked him around, and he needs a place to stay the night. You alone?"

Mike makes a sound that Saul can't quite decipher. "Kaylee's here. How bad is he?"

"He drove himself to a shitty motel, so I'm guessing his limbs work well enough. He said he was fine, but you know those types."

Mike hums in agreement. "Bring him over. I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks, Mike. You're a peach."

"Don't ever call me that."

* * *

 

Saul pulls into the motel parking lot about ten minutes later, and, man, this place is butt-ugly. The white paint has faded to a sort of dingy grey, chipped and weathered in spots. He sees Jesse's car parked in one of the spaces, though it's not hard to find considering there's only about three other cars in the expansive lot. Saul slides in alongside him and rolls down the window. "Your chariot awaits."

Jesse glances over at him, and Saul almost gasps out loud. The right side of Jesse's face is covered in dried, smeared blood, caked around his eye. There's the beginnings of a nasty bruise around that eye, dark reds and purples mixed together to create a mess of almost-black. Saul tries not to wince, but,  _damn_. "Sheesh, kid..."

"Is it bad?"

"You haven't even looked?"

Jesse shakes his head. "I'm kinda scared to."

"Well, climb in, and we'll get you somewhere safe."

"And just leave my ride here?"

"Yeah, it'll lead Walt in the wrong direction if he comes looking for you."

Jesse nods and gets out of the car, slides into the passenger seat of Saul's Cadillac. Saul reaches into the glove box and plucks out an unopened packet of hand wipes he pilfered from a restaurant. He flips down the mirror on Jesse's side. "This should get you cleaned up."

Jesse keeps his gaze averted, stares at the pack of wipes in his hand.

"C'mon, kid, my guy won't take you if you show up lookin' like a haunted house extra."

Jesse tears open the packet and drags the wipe over his face. He hisses when he touches the cut on his eyebrow. "Who's your guy?"

"You remember Mike? Well, he's gonna let you stay the night, depending on how beat up you look. Can't have you givin' the granddaughter nightmares, y'know."

Jesse risks a glance in the mirror. He winces at the sight and wipes the caked blood away. Saul wants to reach out and help him, but he doesn't know how to offer comfort in a situation like this. "Do you—do you wanna put a TRO on him? If you go to the cops—"

"No," Jesse cuts in. "No cops."

"He can't do anything to me, Jesse. That was a bluff."

Jesse shakes his head, still daubing away the blood. "You remember what happened to Michael Jackson? Some kid says the dude molested him, they go through a whole trial and find him not guilty, but it doesn't matter. Everybody still thinks he's a total pedo, even though there was all this evidence that proved the kid was lying." He fixes Saul with an intense gaze. "There's some bells you can't unring, yo. I'm not gonna ruin your life just to get back at Mr. White for somethin' that was my fault."

Saul's heart breaks in his chest. "Your fault?"

"I lied to him. If I had just been honest and told him where I was, maybe..." He trails off. "I shouldn't've pissed him off."

"He shouldn't have hit you."

Jesse just shrugs, like the fact that his husband busted his face means nothing. Saul grinds his teeth together to stop himself from arguing further. "I'll get you away from him, Jesse. I promise."

Jesse nods, looks himself over in the mirror. "Do I look okay?"

"Well, the blood's gone," Saul says, examining Jesse's face. "But that's a pretty nasty bruise."

"Can you take a picture? Maybe send it to Mike and see what he says?"

"Mike's still in the Stone Age when it comes to cell phones." Saul backs out of the parking lot. "Let's just pay him a visit and see how it goes from there."

Jesse switches on the radio during the drive and doesn't move, just stares out the window at the rolling scenery. Saul wants to make conversation, but obviously Jesse's not in the mood. He hates it when the kid's quiet though, because Jesse's probably stuck in his own head, replaying the attack and thinking of all the ways he got things wrong.

They arrive at Mike's house rather quickly. Saul helps Jesse out of the car despite his insistence. He walks him to the door, keeps a hand on Jesse's lower back as reassurance. The hand drops away as Saul rings the doorbell.

Mike answers after a moment or two, takes one look at Jesse and sighs. "Jeez..."

Jesse lifts a hand to his face. "It's—it's not too bad, is it?"

Mike shakes his head. "Just come in."

Jesse steps inside. Saul moves to do the same, but Mike stops him with a hand. "A word, please."

Saul gulps, loosens his collar. Jesse disappears out of his sight. "This—this isn't payback for that peach comment, is it?"

Mike glares at him like he thinks Saul's the stupidest person in the entire world. "You think I don't see what's goin' on here? You and this kid..." Mike grunts out an angry noise. "Jesus..."

"You wanna be a little less obtuse here, Mike?"

"In all your years of doin' this, how many clients have you had with spouses who beat them?"

Saul doesn't answer. He doesn't think he's supposed to.

"Now, how many of them have you ever brought here?" Mike watches Saul's face for a reaction. Yeah, maybe Saul feels partly responsible for all of this, because if he'd pushed Jesse away that night things might have turned out differently. "Is there any way this could come back to bite you in the ass later?"

"No."

"Good. Now, go home, and try to think with the proper head next time."

"Can I ask for one more tiny, itty-bitty favor?"

Mike groans. "What?"

"Guys like this... you know it's probably not the first time. You wanna look into Walt's past, see if he's got any previous  _incidents_  like this one?"

"Already on my to-do list."

* * *

 

Mike shuts the door and approaches Jesse. "You sure you don't wanna go to the hospital?"

Jesse nods. "I'm fine. Really. I just need a safe place to stay the night. I won't be any trouble."

Mike makes a face. "Kid, you're no trouble. Have you had dinner yet?"

Jesse shakes his head. The empty rumble in his stomach reminds him of this fact.

"Good. I was just about to make some. You like chicken nuggets and macaroni?"

"Yeah. You need any help?"

"Sit down, Jesse. Watch some TV," Mike says, moving into the kitchen.

Jesse does as he's told and sits beside Kaylee on the couch. She's watching some animated show on the television, but diverts her attention to Jesse when he sits down. Jesse gives her his warmest, friendliest smile. "My name's Jesse. What's yours?"

"Kaylee."

"That's a cool name."

She smiles back, studies him for a moment. "What happened to your face?"

Somehow, the truth doesn't seem like something he should tell a ten-year-old. So he lies. "I fought a monster."

Kaylee gazes at him with wide eyes, enthralled by his story. "Were you scared?"

"Yeah. See, one of his claws got me right here." He points to the wound on his eyebrow.

Kaylee gasps. "You won, right?"

"I won. He's not out there anymore."

She leans in and whispers, "Are you a superhero? 'Cause superheroes fight monsters."

Jesse chuckles to himself. "Yeah, I am. But don't tell anyone. You gotta keep my identity a secret. You wanna be my sidekick?"

"Yeah! What's your superhero name?"

"Diesel."

She frowns. "That's not very superhero-y."

"All the really cool names are already taken though."

"Nuh-huh!" Kaylee insists.

They spend the next twenty minutes discussing superhero names and what their powers would be until dinner's ready. Jesse feels much calmer now that he's in a safe enviroment, away from Walt and his indignant fury. He's at peace here with this stoic grandpa with a heart of gold and his granddaughter. Jesse's never had people in his life that truly cared about him; it's a nice change of pace.

Plus, he hasn't had chicken nuggets in  _forever_.

After dinner, the three of them watch cartoons on the couch until Kaylee starts yawning. "Time for bed, kiddo," Mike says, lifting her off of his lap.

"But I wanna stay up and talk to Jesse."

Mike smiles. "He'll be here in the morning. Maybe the three of us'll get breakfast."

A grin spreads on her face. "Okay! G'nite, Pop-Pop! G'nite, Jesse!"

"Good night, pumpkin."

"See ya," Jesse says. Kaylee disappears around the mouth of the hallway. Jesse looks over at Mike, who's smiling like a proud parent. "She's a good kid."

"The best," Mike says, leaning back against the couch. "You doin' okay?"

"Yeah..." Jesse risks a feather-light touch to his bruised face. "It's kinda hot."

"You want some ice? Might keep the swelling down."

"Sure."

Mike fetches him an ice pack from the freezer, wraps it in a dishrag. Jesse presses it to his swollen eye, ignores the bite of cold. "I'm gonna run a pretty thorough check on your husband. I doubt this is the first time he's done this. If there's any skeletons in his closet, I'll find them."

Jesse isn't sure he wants to know Walt's secrets. He considers that reaction and wonders if Walt did the right thing by hiding his cancer in the first place. "Is that gonna help?"

"It might," Mike says, and he sounds hopeful. "Usually, guys that do this, they're hidin' something. Maybe he knocked his last wife around too."

Jesse feels bad for her, though she looks at him like he's something left unflushed in a toilet. But he can't really blame her; maybe she doesn't hate  _him_ , maybe she hates what he represents about Walt: dishonesty, manipulation, cruelty, and a mid-life crisis the size of Texas.

Mike looks at Jesse. "So, you and Saul, huh?"

Jesse's face goes impossibly hot. "He told you?"

"In all the years I've known him, he's never had me provide a client sanctuary before." Mike smirks as if remembering something. "I know what Saul Goodman looks like when he's crazy about somebody. The way he looks at you..." Mike trails off, but Jesse understands. "He must think you're somethin' special."

Jesse smiles despite himself. His face feels like it might crack from the stretch of glee. "I like him a lot," he admits in a quiet voice.

"I think the feeling's mutual."

Jesse eventually dozes off on the couch, overwhelmed by the day's events. He dreams a jumbled haze of violent images, crimson and white mixed together in angry flashes. He's exhausted enough to stay in the realm of sleep, never waking throughout the night in sweat-prickled fear.

When Jesse finally does wake, it's morning, and he smells the familiar aroma of coffee. Jesse pries open his good eye and sees Mike in the kitchen brewing a pot. He forces himself up, pushes a hand through his hair. The damaged side of his face throbs in blistering pain. He grunts in agony.

"You awake?" Mike asks.

Jesse makes a noise.

"Bet you could use some painkillers, huh?" Jesse hears him open up a bottle of Tylenol and shake a couple pills out. He brings Jesse the pills and a bottle of water. Mike winces when he sees Jesse's face. "That doesn't look good."

Jesse's afraid to see how his bruises have evolved.

After he's swallowed down the pills, Mike says, "C'mere," and leads Jesse down the hall into the bathroom. He opens a drawer and takes out a tube of concealer. "I use it to hide liver spots, but it oughta do in a pinch."

Jesse risks a glance at himself in the mirror, and,  _yikes_. The bruises have darkened into deeper purples and reds, the skin swollen and stretched. Jesse squirts a dab of concealer onto his finger and stipples it over the discoloration. "So," he says, painting over the bruises, "you find out anything about Mr. White?"

Mike gives a solemn nod. "I did."

"You gonna tell me?"

"After breakfast."

Dread sinks in his gut like a stone. What could be so awful he can't say it now? Jesse runs through the possibilities in his head. Could Mr. White have killed someone? Probably not, or he'd be in prison. Maybe he's a drug dealer? That would explain his preoccupation with Jesse's sobriety despite Jesse being clean for five years.

"You don't think Mr. White... went after Saul, do you?"

Mike shakes his head. "If anything like that happened I'd be the first to know about it."

"How?"

"Well, either he would call me, or, God forbid, if he  _couldn't_ , well, I'm listed as Saul's next of kin."

Jesse gulps. "For real? But you're not family."

"I'm the closest thing he's got."

"Did—did something happen to them?"

"I'll let him tell you about it," Mike says. "But Saul doesn't get close to people too often. So count yourself lucky to be one of the few he lets in." He watches Jesse put the finishing touches on the make-up. "Not too bad, kid."

The three of them go out for pancakes after Kaylee wakes up. Jesse spends most of breakfast in his own head, his mind swirling dizzily with Mike's newest revelations. One, Mr. White's done something horrible, and two, Saul is far lonelier than he'll ever let on; the first frightens him and the second breaks his heart. Saul mentioned he's been divorced three times; maybe he gave up on happiness entirely and drowned himself in litigating the misery of others, covering up his inner pain with a façade of jokes and lackadaisical wit.

Jesse wants to find Saul and hug him, to somehow take away all of his hurt and replace it with something brighter and filled with love. He's tempted to send Saul a text that says "I love you," but he doesn't know if that would be a welcome gesture. He hates that he's suddenly self-conscious about expressing something positive and wholesome; love shouldn't be hidden away like a dark secret—it should be shouted from the rooftops and written on one's sleeve.

When they get back to Mike's house, Kaylee shows Jesse her room and invites him to color with her at the kid-sized picnic table near the window. Jesse kneels across from her—he's slightly too big for the seat—and she opens up a coloring book filled with pictures of dinosaurs. They work on one picture together, Jesse coloring the background and Kaylee coloring the triceratops. "How come your face is all healed?" she asks.

He remembers he's still wearing the concealer he applied this morning. Must be some good stuff. "'Cause I got healing powers."

"If I got hurt, could you heal me?"

Jesse shakes his head. "It only works on me."

"That's kinda dumb."

"No, 'cause what if, like, a bad guy wants me to heal him? He could just make me do it, y'know, if I could heal other people."

Kaylee thinks that one over. "I guess. But you can't heal your friends either."

"Yeah, sometimes I wish I could." Jesse thinks about Saul, and even Walt. "But I got other cool stuff I can do, so it's not so bad."

"Like what?"

"Well, I can draw."

"Can you draw Wonder Woman?"

Jesse chuckles. "Yeah, I can draw Wonder Woman for you. After we finish this, okay?"

"Okay!" She grabs a purple crayon for the dinosaur's horns. "You came here with Pop-Pop's friend?"

It takes Jesse a moment to realize she's talking about Saul. "You know Saul?"

"Uh-huh. He's funny. He brings me candy sometimes."

"Oh yeah?" Jesse says, a grin spreading on his face. He had no idea Saul was good with kids. As if Jesse wasn't already stupidly smitten with the man.

"He got me a ginormous gummy bear for my birthday. It was this"—she spreads her arms apart as far as she can—"big!"

"That sounds awesome." Jesse's knees start to hurt, so he sits on the edge of the bench and turns his body so he can work over the picture. "He's really nice, huh?"

"Did he get you a giant gummy bear too?"

"Not exactly," Jesse laughs. "But he was really nice to me when I didn't have anybody else."

"How come?"

Jesse shrugs. "'Cause's a good person, I guess."

Kaylee's shaking her head. "No, I mean how come you were alone?"

Jesse blinks in surprise. "Well, y'know most superheroes are loners, right? They've either lost everybody they love or shut them out 'cause they dunno if they can handle the whole superhero thing. Me, I guess... I lost people."

Kaylee looks sad for a moment before her demeanor brightens. "You got me and Pop-Pop though!"

Jesse smiles. "Yeah, I do."

"And Saul!" Kaylee reminds him, as if he could possibly forget.

"Yeah." Euphoria blooms in his gut at the thought that Saul wants him as much as Jesse does.

Kaylee hangs up the finished picture, sticking it to the wall with two well-placed glittery star stickers. Jesse finds a marker nearby and some blank paper and goes to work on drawing Wonder Woman for Kaylee. She watches, infinitely curious about his process, like he's making magic before her eyes. It's been a while since Jesse's drawn something like this—most of his work at the tattoo parlor is simple designs or lettering—and even though he makes a couple mistakes Kaylee doesn't even notice, couldn't see them if he pointed them out.

When he's finished with the lines he adds some color with Kaylee's extensive collection of markers and gel pens. Kaylee insists he use the sparkly gold gel pen for Wonder Woman's lasso and gold accessories; Jesse thinks that's an awesome idea.

Mike pokes his head into the room. "You two getting along in here?"

"Yeah, we're good."

Kaylee slides the drawing across the table and holds it up for Mike. "Look what Jesse drew!"

Mike smiles. "That's pretty good, kid."

Jesse beams under the attention.

Mike looks at Kaylee. "Is it okay if I borrow Jesse for a minute?"

"But he's not done," Kaylee says with a frown, looking at the drawing.

Jesse smiles and hands her a red gel pen. "You think you can finish it for me?"

She takes the pen from him, smiles big and wide. "'Kay!"

Jesse chuckles and stands up, follows Mike out into the living room. "What's up?"

Mike sits at the dining table and invites Jesse to do the same. "Have a seat."

Jesse swallows, wonders what Mike could possibly tell him that requires him to be sitting down. He pulls out a chair and sits down. "Is it about Mr. White?"

Mike nods solemnly. He looks like a doctor preparing to inform a patient they're about to die. "You don't need to divorce him, Jesse, because you're not legally married."

Jesse's brow creases in confusion. "What? But Saul said it was."

"All he did was verify the state recognizes a same-sex marriage that it previously licensed. That's got nothing to do with whether or not your marriage is actually legal."

Jesse runs a hand through his hair. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Walt's still married to his wife. I don't know if they just separated and she never filed, or if he never signed the papers or what the deal is, but they never divorced or annulled the marriage. That means you're not married."

A hand reaches into Jesse's chest and squeezes his heart. "What? You—you mean he lied to me this whole time?" Mike says nothing, letting Jesse get it all out. "He lied for five years so I'd stay with him?" Tears force their way forward and drip down his cheeks. He raises a hand to wipe them away, winces at the touch of pain from his bruised eye.

"I'm sorry, kid."

The realizations crash down on him in waves. "Oh God, I wasted five years on him... I spent all my money divorcin' him when I didn't even need to..." His chest hitches with frantic sobs.

Their relationship had been founded on dishonesty from the start. In his heart Jesse had always suspected that, but now it's spelled out in front of him, and, man, does it hurt. The evidence of Walt's betrayal is stacked into neat piles Jesse can't ignore or rationalize away.

Walt lied to him for years, and Jesse fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

"You can put a restraining order on him to get him out of the house," Mike says, steering the conversation into a more positive direction. There will be time for Jesse to grieve later.

Jesse nods, his watery eyes unseeing. "Does—does Saul know?"

"I told him this morning. He's on top of all the necessary steps, don't worry."

Looks like Walt's getting that divorce called off after all.


	10. Chapter 10

Walt calls into work the next morning, too groggy and hungover and miserable to do much of anything else but mope. Jesse's nowhere to be found, which concerns him, but he remembers they had an argument last night, and running out is pretty much how Jesse's been handling their fights lately. So he leaves an apologetic message on Jesse's voicemail and pours himself some Sprite to stave off the hangover.

Jesse comes storming through the front door around noon, the right side of his face swollen and bruised. Walt gasps in horror. He vaguely recalls laying his hands on Jesse last night, and, oh God, did he do that?

"Jesse? Are you alright?" Walt rushes to his side, but Jesse's having none of it.

"I guess you won after all, Mr. White," Jesse sneers, tears sheeting down his face, "'cause here I am, callin' off the divorce. 'Cause, y'know, you can't get a divorce if  _you aren't fucking married_!"

Jesse's words hit Walt like a body blow. "What?"

"You knew," Jesse snarls, advancing on him, "you fucking knew this whole time that we weren't married! You lied to me for five years while you were still married to your wife! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

 _He knows_. Oh Christ. Walt stammers for an answer that doesn't sound trite or rehearsed, but, really, what can he say? He'd known this would happen, that Jesse would find out his dark secret. And he can't justify it, not by a long shot.

"Your whole 'stay with me 'til I die' act was bullshit too," Jesse continues, "'cause when you die your wife's gonna get everything. There was no way in hell I'd see a dime from your greedy ass. And you  _knew_  it!"

"Jesse..."

"Lemme guess, you 'didn't know how to tell me'?"

"You think, what, this somehow proves some flawed idea you've got in your head that I don't love you?" Walt argues.

"It totally does, because you couldn't even be straight with me from the start! What was it? Did you not trust me, or was this some bullshit attempt to keep me under your thumb without actually bein' married to me?" Jesse's eyes go wide, like he's suddenly realized something. "Does she know you two are still married? Have you been lyin' to her, too?"

"She knows, Jesse. We didn't want to go through a long, expensive divorce process, so we separated instead." Skyler assumed Walt's relationship with Jesse would fizzle out, that he'd eventually come crawling back to his family. She wasn't wrong.

"And you didn't think to, I dunno, tell me that shit before you married me?"

"Would you have gone through with it if I had?"

Jesse thinks it over, his furious tirade paused. "Yeah, I probably would've. I was an idiot..." He wipes his wet face with a hand. "I loved you, Mr. White, and you fucked me over. You never gave a shit about me."

"Jesse, that's not true," Walt says, reaching out to him, but Jesse slaps his hands away.

"Screw you," Jesse chokes out. "Just—just get out of my house. I don't want you here."

Walt's heart breaks anew in his chest. "Jesse, please, let me—"

"If you don't leave, I'll make you leave. You think I can't get a restraining order when my face looks like this?"

Walt doesn't doubt it. "Jesse, I'm so sorry I did that, I was drunk, I wasn't thinking—"

"Are you sorry for all the other shit too? And not just sorry 'cause you got busted?" Jesse shakes his head in disgust. "Whatever. Just go."

Walt moves for the door. "Despite how this looks, I do care about you, Jesse."

Jesse doesn't answer, doesn't turn to face him. He heads straight for the stairs. Walt shuts the door behind him, wishes he could be the one to offer Jesse comfort instead of cause his distress.

* * *

 

Jesse curls up in the bed and cries until his eyes have run dry and his chest no longer spurs out broken sobs. He falls into a dreamless sleep that's cut short by the trill of his cell phone.

Saul writes: _ **You okay?**_

Jesse sniffles and types back:  _ **yeah**_

After a moment, Saul replies with:  _ **Are you alone?**_

Jesse tells him that he is, and that the front door's unlocked if he wants to come over. He drops his phone on the bed and buries the good side of his face into the tear-stained pillow. Jesse doesn't move, even when he hears Saul open the front door ten minutes later. Saul's footsteps sound on the staircase. He peeks inside the bedroom, his expression drooping with pain when he sees Jesse there on the bed. "Oh kid..." Saul moves to join him there, lays a hand on Jesse's shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

Jesse sinks deeper into the mattress. "You think he ever really loved me?"

"How could he not? You're fantastic."

Jesse manages a smile. It feels strange on his face after all this.

"What do you need from me?" Saul asks, his voice and touch tender as he curls a hand around Jesse's cheek. "You want me to stay? Or would you feel better by yourself?"

Jesse shakes his head and wraps his fingers around Saul's wrist. "You can stay. I don't wanna be alone."

Saul climbs onto the bed and lies alongside him. Jesse feels better already, and maybe he snuggles up to Saul a little bit, rests his head on his shoulder. Saul wraps an arm around him. After a moment, Jesse says, "Mike told me you don't have any family."

Saul's mouth does a weird, half-smile thing. "He would say that. Mr. Dramatic. I have family, they just... well, we haven't really talked in a while."

"How come?"

Saul shrugs. "Lots of reasons. Sometimes you just grow apart from people. Distance, time, differing opinions... My brother didn't exactly give my last wife a ringing endorsement. 'Course, he wasn't wrong, but I think too much time has passed to call him and say, 'hey, you were right.'"

"Maybe you should. It's good to have somebody on your side, y'know?"

Saul nods and holds Jesse a little tighter. He breathes out a deep sigh. "I'm sorry this happened to you. You didn't deserve any of what he put you through."

"I'm glad it's over," Jesse says.

Saul doesn't argue with that.

* * *

 

_Three weeks later..._

"Rise and shine, kiddo."

Jesse groans and cracks an eye open. The curtains are drawn, but there's barely any light seeping into the bedroom. Saul's got no business waking Jesse up this early. Something better be on fire.

"No," Jesse grumbles into the pillow, dragging out the word. Saul's standing at his bedside wearing the same Hot Dad t-shirt-and-pajama-bottoms combo he was wearing last night. Jesse distinctly remembers pulling those clothes off of Saul at some point—being naked himself bolsters that theory.

Saul ignores his protests, moving over to the window and pushing the curtains aside. It's still pretty dark out; Jesse assumed he'd be able to sleep until sunrise, so waking up to Saul's annoyingly-cheery demeanor understandably pisses him off.

"Where's your Christmas spirit?" Saul says.

Jesse blinks in realization. Holy shit, it's Christmas morning. Jesse's been so preoccupied with work, finishing up his last semester of school, and moving Walt out of the house that he's barely had time to himself, much less time to buy gifts.

He's the worst boyfriend ever.

"My Christmas spirit doesn't wake up 'til noon," Jesse says.

Saul drops onto the edge of the bed and jostles Jesse's comfortable sleeping position. "You're awfully grumpy in the morning."

"When you wake me up at the ass-crack of dawn, yeah." Jesse drags the pillow over his head. Maybe if he pretends Saul isn't there he'll disappear.

Nope. Saul pulls the pillow away, because he's kind of a dick. "I made breakfast, and dare I say I make damn good scrambled eggs."

This entire situation is kind of adorable, in a heartbreaking sort of way: Saul's so excited about Christmas that he woke up early just to make breakfast for the two of them, and Jesse's being a grumbly asshole about Saul's gesture of affection. Jesse is the Walter White of this relationship.

That realization sorts him out quickly. Jesse drags himself into a sitting position, scrubs a hand through his hair. "Alright, alright, you win."

He finds his clothes discarded on the floor and gets dressed, panicking internally. There's still time to bullshit his way through a gift, right? Saul's not very materialistic; Jesse could totally give him an amazing blowjob as a present. He doesn't think Saul would object to that. He'll just have to wait and see what Saul gives him.

He hopes it's nothing too expensive.

Jesse learns that Saul does indeed make pretty bitchin' scrambled eggs. Much better than Walt's, and maybe even a bit better than his own. Jesse needs to step his game up, for sure.

It's a weird feeling, sharing breakfast on Christmas morning with his new boyfriend. Not that it's uncomfortable or awkward, but there's a nagging voice in the back of Jesse's mind that tells him this is something he's not allowed to have. That he's not supposed to be happy so soon after his split with Walt. Which he thinks is bullshit, but that's not stopping him from feeling guilty over it.

"I hope you're not expecting too much, kid," Saul says as they sit by the Christmas tree near the living room window. "Keep your expectations low and you'll never be disappointed. That's my motto, anyway."

Jesse breathes an internal sigh of relief. Maybe he can get away with a half-assed, spur-of-the-moment gift after all. The single present sitting under the tree looks awfully lonely, though. Saul probably thinks Jesse's hidden his gift and will make him search for it, like a winter-y Easter egg hunt.

On the plus side, Saul won't be pissed at Jesse for the lack of a gift. He will, however, be incredibly disappointed, and Saul's disappointed face is like a knife to Jesse's gut. He really, really doesn't want to make Saul sad.

"Dude, I'm just glad you're here," Jesse admits, because he truly is.

Saul shrugs. "I still wish I could'a done more."

"I'm sure it's great, whatever it is."

Saul slides the elegantly-wrapped box from under the tree and into Jesse's waiting hands. It's heavier than he's expecting. Jesse examines the neat folds of the paper. "Did you wrap this yourself?" Jesse can't picture Saul wrapping a present; he just  _can't_. It's too hilariously domestic.

"Maybe I did. Or maybe I paid to have it gift-wrapped. You'll never know."

Jesse snorts a laugh and slides a finger under the edge of the paper. "You're full of mystery, aren't you?"

"Absolutely."

Jesse rips open the wrapping paper, and staring back at him is a fire-engine red five-quart stand mixer. There's no way this came cheap. Jesse knows; he considered buying one before the price tag made him balk.

A blowjob is  _so_  not going to cover this.

"Wow," is all he can think to say.

"I thought you could use a proper mixer instead of that godawful handheld thing you've been using," Saul says. "Can't you see that it wants to die? Let it go."

"Yeah, it's probably not s'posed to smell like it's burning," Jesse says, still in awe over the gift.

"So, do you like it?" Saul asks with that adorable half-smile.

"Y—yeah, totally. It's awesome." Jesse can't bullshit his way through reciprocation here. Just tell him the truth. Rip it off in one quick jerk, like a band-aid. "I just—I hope you didn't get it on sale, 'cause... well, I don't actually have anything to give you." He's mumbling the last part through his hands, because he can't even look at Saul right now.

"You know I can't hear you when you do that."

Christ, Jesse could barely get the words out the first time. He raises his head, his face burning a hideous shade of red. "I've been so busy with shit I didn't have time to get you something really good, and even if I did I don't have a lot of money. I know it's shitty, I shouldn't even be making excuses—"

Saul stops Jesse's torrent of apologies by pressing his hand to his mouth. "Jess', it's okay. Really. You're not obligated to get me anything."

Jesse glances away from the unadulterated love and acceptance in Saul's eyes. "But it's Christmas... and you're my boyfriend."

"As much shit as you've gone through the last couple of months, I think you're entitled to skip a year."

Jesse gives that a nod of consideration. "You sure?" Walt would have raised hell if he bought Jesse something expensive and didn't receive a gift in return. This is brand new territory.

"Of course. You know how long it's been since I've been able to spoil someone with gifts? Before you came along, the most I could do was buy Kaylee expensive toys, and let me tell you, Mike does  _not_  like that."

This feels wrong somehow, but Saul doesn't look or sound like he's lying to spare Jesse's feelings. "You're totally,  _totally_  sure? You're not just sayin' this 'cause you don't want me to feel worse?"

"Maybe Walt would've read you the riot act for not getting him a gift, but he's not the type to realize you  _are_  a gift."

Jesse snorts an undignified sound. "That was cheesy as fuck, yo."

Saul spreads his hands. "My point still stands, cheese and all."

Could Jesse really have gotten lucky enough to find someone who's genuinely nice and loving and  _good_  for him? He chuckles to himself, drops his gaze to the floor. "Y'know, I actually thought I could get out of this with a blowjob."

"Hey, I'm not gonna turn that down," Saul says. Of course he won't. "If that's still on the table, of course."

"Blowjobs are always on the table."

Saul's face does this adorable thing where his nose crinkles when he laughs. "That would be an awful slogan for a restaurant."

Then Jesse's chuckling too, because when was the last time Walt made him laugh like this? "Yeah, Health Inspection would be all over that place."

Saul's smile grows soft, and he's watching Jesse with an open, honest look that Jesse doesn't think he'll ever get used to. It's like Saul sees every flaw and insecurity inside him yet still deems him acceptable.

Jesse doesn't have time for chagrin, because Saul's moving in and pressing their mouths together, soft and slow. Jesse's heart still soars and sings when Saul kisses him; it's different, he thinks, than it was with Walt—the flutter in his chest springs from something pure, delight in loving and being loved.

"I'm glad you're here," Saul murmurs around the kiss.

Jesse's mouth curls into a smile. "Yeah, me too."

* * *

 

 _No matter how dark the moment, love and hope are always possible._  
George Chakiris


End file.
